Overwatch: Merciful Murder
by FlamingAlmonds
Summary: Dr. Angela Ziegler is trying to change the world, but she has no idea how much it's going to change her. She joined Overwatch of her own free will, believing she could take control of fate. Too bad no one can play God forever. A story following Mercy through joining Overwatch, its aftermath, and the twisted path she walks in the name of medicine, and love. Cover Image: Sanzosin
1. Do You Have An Appointment?

Her phone started buzzing across the kitchen counter just as the tea kettle began to whistle. Setting the paperwork down, she got up from the table and switched off the stove, snatching her phone as it skittered its way off the edge.

"Dr. Ziegler speaking."

"Sorry to bother you, doctor. There's a man at the hospital looking to speak with you," the nurse paused. "He seems rather ... insistent."

"I don't have any appointments today," she frowned. "Who is he with? Do you know what he wants?" Angela tucked the phone into her shoulder and poured the water into a mug to let the tea bag steep.

"He won't say, just that it's urgent," the nurse said. "I can have him come back tomorrow? Your schedule shows a free block after your 3 p.m. meeting."

More meetings, fantastic. "Yes that sounds fine, thank you, have a good rest of your Sunday."

She hung up the phone and sighed. Being a hospital's head of surgery had its perks, but the endless void of meetings was tedious. It was rare Angela had a quiet Sunday, and working from home was a simple reprieve from the chaotic nature of a hospital. She sat back down at the table to finish reviewing the proposed surgery schedule, a never-ending list that had to be shifted, rearranged and updated to accommodate the constant flow of patients. Everyone was scrambling to move surgeries to her hospital after her breakthrough with nanobiology; she wished she could help everyone trying to transfer a surgery, but the hospital simply didn't have the time or resources.

" _There must be a better way to do this_ ," Angela thought. " _Death is so efficient, how can I make my treatments as immediate as the wounds they're meant to fix?_ "

One breakthrough would never be enough, even if she lied to herself. She dedicated her life to saving the unsaveable, and if she could stop another child from losing their parents to war, she would.

But it was also a Sunday, and she wasn't about to waste a beautiful summer day staring at manila folders. Angela took her tea and walked upstairs to the terrace, grabbing the copy of 20 Minuten she'd picked up on the way home. Warmth tickled her face as she sat down and glanced over the cover. At the hospital, she sometimes felt like the world could stop spinning and she'd never notice.

"OVER-WATCHED? HEROES CONTINUE NEWS DOMINATION" the headline screamed. " _Heroes,_ " Angela snorted. " _Save a life? Boring. Blow up a bunch of buildings? Front page news!_ "

She'd always been suspicious of the international taskforce. In her opinion, it frequently bordered on lawless, and oftentimes it was more destructive than helpful after the first Omnic Crisis. Its members were practically celebrities, worshiped by the world for saving it, but she knew that salvation came with a price. Overwatch got away with more than any nation, probably because it was beholden to none, and the United Nations was far from a scary master.

"Enough of this," she muttered. She came outside to enjoy the weather, not get riled up about something out of her control.

Angela folded the chair back and placed her sun hat over her eyes. She couldn't get annoyed if she took a nap.

* * *

"You're seriously going over again?"

"Yes. I have an appointment."

"We stop machines from taking over the world, but you were defeated by some doctor's schedule?"

"Shut the fuck up."

Laughter followed Jack as the hotel door slammed. He hit down on the elevator and stepped on.

They weren't going to be in this part of Switzerland for much longer, and Jack was determined to meet this doctor. He didn't mind this part of country, it was as beautiful as everyone said, but they were here for a purpose. He wasn't trying to waste time.

The car was already at the curb when he walked out. Jack tipped the bellhop holding the door and slid into the black sedan. He wished he could drive himself, but he'd given up fighting security protocols a long time ago. The car sped away and he took a moment to familiarize himself with one Dr. Angela Ziegler.

Jack skimmed through the bio the U.N. had sent over: Young for a head of surgery, that's for sure. Pioneer of breakthrough nanobiology research. Brilliant, assertive, passionate. Not a huge fan of Overwatch. Parents killed in the first Omnic war.

Overwatch had been looking for a head of medical research for months, and the U.N. had recommended Ziegler because of the potential nanobiology held for combat medicine. Hopefully her "aversion to Overwatch tactics," as the biography described it, wouldn't be too much of a problem. They needed a doctor, and they needed one now; Russia was in the middle of a second Omnic Crisis, Talon was being a royal pain in the ass. They needed a miracle worker.

Fifteen minutes later the car pulled up to the front of the hospital. "I can open my own door," Jack told the driver before he had a chance to move. "Thank you."

Somewhere in this sterile prison was his doctor.

" _Thank God I have an appointment,_ " Jack thought.


	2. Poster Boy

"I think we can expect some huge leaps in the next few months with additional funding," Angela told the room. "That is why I'm asking for your help today. Your continued generosity has allowed my team to pioneer medicine that can save millions of lives."

Ten pairs of eyes stared back at her, many belonging to donors she needed to convince to open their wallets for her nanobiology research. It was not the kind of meeting she enjoyed on a Monday, she never quite felt like her head was on straight until Tuesday. Angela also just really, really hated asking people to give her money. She'd rather be doing research in the lab, not begging cash cows for a little something extra. Unfortunately, they demand her. They want the person trying to revolutionize modern medicine to grovel for their pennies.

Her assistant clapped from the back of the room, signalling the meeting's close. She spent the next five minutes shaking hands before everyone was gone. "I need a coffee," she groaned.

Angela grabbed the vibrating phone out of her pocket. "4 p.m. office meeting," the screen read. Well, shit. She'd forgotten about that, coffee would have to wait.

She was actually interested to know who needed to meet with her so last minute. Angela always took the stairs; four flights was an easy way to make herself feel like she'd done something physical during the day.

The light lit up on her desk phone. She pressed speaker, "Your 4 p.m. is here," a voice chirped. "Send them up, thank you," Angela replied.

* * *

Click. Pop. Click. Click. Smack.

Why is her mouse so damn loud? Did no one ever teach this woman some manners? Jack felt like he'd been standing in front of the receptionist for an age patiently waiting for her attention.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

Smack. Pop.

Maybe chewing her gum so loudly had made her deaf. Maybe she was just a shitty receptionist.

He leaned over the desk and snapped his fingers. Nothing moved except her eyes, and if they could have, they'd have burned a hole right through him. Luckily, he'd dealt with a lot worse than a cranky receptionist.

"Hello, ma'am," he smiled. "My name is Jack Morrison. I have a 4 p.m. appointment with Dr. Angela Ziegler."

"One moment, sir." She slid over a sign-in sheet. "If you could please sign in, I'll let her know you're here."

Click. Pop.

Jack scribbled his name in. He wasn't sure what good it would do if something happened, his handwriting was not perfected on an Indiana farm.

"Thank you for waiting. Dr. Ziegler's office is located on the fourth floor. You can find both the elevator and stairs around the corner."

"Thank you very much." He could hear her popping that damn gum all the way down the hall.

He'd never liked elevators, they're a perfect way to get trapped, and you're usually a dead man walking if something goes wrong. He didn't mind taking the stairs, anyway, hospitals are so cold he doubted he could break a sweat if he tried.

Four floors later he followed the signs directing him to "Chief of Surgery."

"Dr. Angela Ziegler, Chief of Surgery" the door announced. He gave it a knock.

"Come in," Angela said.

* * *

The face of Overwatch was not what she'd expected to walk through her door.

Angela stood up to greet him and stuck out her hand. "Dr. Angela Ziegler, pleased to meet you," she said. "Pleasure is all mine, ma'am," Jack shook her hand. "My name is Jack Morrison."

"Now what in the world is Overwatch's poster boy doing in my hospital?" she asked.

"Poster boy," he laughed. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment. I'm here to talk to you about Overwatch, and what you can do for us."

"This may be a very short meeting then, Mr. Morrison," Angela sat down. "I don't think I want to do anything for Overwatch, and I do not plan to waste your time."

She studied the man in front of her. What Overwatch wanted with her, she didn't know, but it must be something important if it sent one of its best agents to court her.

"Ah, well you see I'm an optimistic man, Ms. Zieg-"

"Dr. Ziegler," she cut him off.

"Pardon me, Dr. Ziegler," Jack apologized. "As I was saying, I'm an optimistic man, and I would not have traveled all the way to find you if I intended to waste your time. Your recent breakthroughs in nanobiology have caught our eye. Overwatch, and the United Nations, believe you could do immense good if you work with us to further nanobiology application."

Angela couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Excuse me. Am I understanding you correctly, Overwatch wants to hire me?"

"That is correct," Jack leaned forward. "We want you to lead our medical research team. You would have access to all Overwatch resources to assist in nanobiology R&D."

Oh my God. The possibilities were enormous. The U.N. wasn't stingy, and neither was Overwatch. But how could she let herself work for such a militaristic organization?

"You are all very good at killing robots, and people," she said. "Overwatch is flippant in its disregard for human life. You leveled cities fighting Omniums and murder countless civilians battling Talon. You are accountable to no one, and that means you are dangerous. Why would I want to be a part of that? I have dedicated my life to saving lives, not ending them."

Jack leaned back and studied her. Passionate was certainly an accurate description; she'd fit right in. "Dr. Ziegler," he placed the folder on her desk. "I am offering you the chance to change the world, to save more than one life on an operating table. Some of your concerns are valid, and I am happy to offer you reassurances, but you should think very carefully about the doors Overwatch can open. Unlimited resources mean unlimited possibility. What if you could save a soldier's life when it would otherwise end on the battlefield? An innocent bystander's? 100 innocents? Your impact could be much more than it is today."

He stood up and gestured at the folder. "This is an overview of what you can expect if you join Overwatch. Please review it carefully. We will be leaving Wednesday, I will need your answer by then."

Angela stood up and shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Morrison. I appreciate your candor," she said. "I will make sure to let you know by Wednesday."

"It was a pleasure, Dr. Ziegler," Jack smiled and nodded, walking to the door. "I hope to see you soon."

He turned and left, leaving Angela to a twisted stomach and fluttering nerves.


	3. Where Am I Needed?

Cold water and soap squished between her fingers. Angela looked through the glass at the man lying on the table; he was going to be one appendix short when he woke up.

It was the most she could do to keep her mind off Mr. Morrison's offer. It had been following her like a specter since Monday afternoon, and kept her up tossing and turning most of the night.

Appendectomys are fairly bland procedures, but she'd rather oversee a resident practicing than give any attention to the nagging thought: What if I say yes?

A surgical nurse helped her with her gloves and she tied the surgical mask around her face. Angela wouldn't be assisting in the surgery unless something went wrong, but she knew she was making the resident nervous. "Dr. Watkins, right?" she asked. "Yes, chief." The poor girl looked like she was going to have a stroke. At least she was in the right place for it.

"You'll do just fine. Appendectomys are great practice, and he doesn't need it, anyway."

* * *

"She certainly seemed interested. Concerned? Sure, but you should have seen the look on her face when I said 'unlimited resources,'" Jack took a drink from his beer. "Seriously, Gabe, you should have come with me."

"And done what? I don't give the inspiring speeches, and the best negotiating I do is with my shotguns," Gabriel Reyes swirled his glass of Old Grand-Dad. "I'm not sure why I'm here in the first place."

"Because you lead this strikeforce, and the U.N. thought it might be important for you to meet a potential new member of Overwatch," Jack pointed at him. "Stop being difficult, she might save your life some day."

"Ya, ya fine. Winston needs another nerd to play science with, anyway. Is she as much of a smoke as the dossier made her out to be?" Gabriel grinned into his bourbon. He slapped the table and laughed as Jack's eyes went wide and his cheeks red. "I mean seriously Jack, you can't tell me you didn't check her out. A sexy doctor lady? Come on."

"She's pretty," Jack stared at his Corona.

"You know that's the piss water of my people," Gabriel poked a finger at Jack's beer, "and let me tell you, you should learn to drink whiskey, help grow some hairs on that white chest."

"Shut the fuck up."

* * *

Angela had been staring at the folder on her desk for five minutes.

" _It's just a folder,_ " she chided herself. " _Just pick it up, it's not going to bite you._ "

Honestly, she was afraid of what was inside the folder. She believed Mr. Morrison when he said unlimited resources, and that meant she'd never have to hold another donor meeting - no more handshakes, no more begging, no more constantly defending the viability of her research. She wondered if he was right. Could she save more lives working directly with Overwatch? She would be able to change the organization from the inside and save lives all over the world, not just the ones that survive long enough to make it to her operating table.

"OVERWATCH MEDICAL RESEARCH AND GOALS" the first page read. The overview was fairly simple: her goal as head of medical research at Overwatch would be to continue R&D and practical application of nanobiology. Resources would be provided whenever needed, and she would have a state-of-the-art facility.

"Wow," Angela stared at the 0s in the "Salary and Compensation" section. "There's my retirement."

She would be under the United Nation's supervision, but from what she'd seen in the news, it didn't look like it did much supervising of anything at Overwatch. The last page listed some of the Overwatch agents she would be in direct contact with.

Leader: Gabriel Reyes

Science Division: Torbjörn Lindholm, Winston

Soldiers: Ana Amari, Jack Morrison, Lena Oxton, Reinhardt Wilhelm

Angela was already familiar with most of those names. She had always wanted to meet Winston; working with a space gorilla was intriguing, to say the least.

She'd have to leave everything she spent so much time building. Her heart and soul had been invested in this hospital for so long. The nurses, residents, doctors and staff, they all held a place in her heart. What would she do with her house? " _I suppose I could rent it out,_ " she mused. " _Packing takes me barely any time at all. I could hire a cleaner to check on the house every couple of days until I found a suitable tenant._ "

Angela flopped back in the chair and pushed off the table, letting it twirl her around as she stared at the ceiling.

" _Now. Right Now. Where am I needed?_ "

She came to an abrupt halt and grabbed the phone.


	4. A Sensitive Creature

"On the Banks of the Wabash" broke Jack out of his reading. He grunted and pushed himself out of the chair, walking over to where his phone was plugged in. The phone showed an unknown caller.

"Hello?"

"Hello. My name is Dr. Angela Ziegler, I was told to call this number. May I speak to a Jack Morrison?"

"This is he," Jack walked onto the deck. "Glad to hear from you, Dr. Ziegler."

" _Just say yes,_ " he thought.

"Oh, hello Mr. Morrison," Angela hesitated. "I'm calling in regards to your visit yesterday about my research, and Overwatch."

 _"_ Have you made a decision? We leave early tomorrow," Jack stared out at the sunset.

 _Just say yes._

"Well, I still have more ... concerns I need addres-" Jack cut her off. "Dr. Ziegler, I'm happy to talk to you about whatever is still bothering you, but have you made a decision?"

 _Just say yes._

A long pause had Jack holding his breath. He glanced at the phone to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

"I would need-" Jack stopped listening and pounded his fist in the air. Overwatch finally had its doctor. "-a certain level of autonomy in my work, and I will not participate in the development of anything offensive."

"Absolutely. Overwatch is excited to add you to our team, Dr. Ziegler. You've made the right choice. I recommend you pack light, Overwatch can have anything else you need shipped from your home. We depart for Overwatch headquarters tomorrow from Emmen Military Air Base at 0900 hours," Jack explained. "If you are unfamiliar with military time, that's tomorrow at 9 a.m. Overwatch will send a car to pick you up in the morning."

"Thank you, Mr. Morrison, I'll be ready. See you tomorrow morning, have a nice night," Angela said. Jack smiled, "Have a good evening, Dr. Ziegler."

Jack rubbed his hands over his face and sat down. He still had logistical calls to make - lodging, shipping, forms, contracts - but the hard part was over. By this time tomorrow, they'd be back, and he could get back in the field.

* * *

Angela ran a thumb over the picture, smiling faintly. Her parents stared back at her, a toddler-sized Angela giving a gap-toothed grin between them. The war took them from her, but they'd still be coming with her on her new journey.

"I hope I'm doing the right thing," Angela tucked the picture into her suitcase. "I love you both."

She wasn't taking much. A suitcase full of clothes and toiletries would suffice until she could get the rest shipped. The car would be there any minute, so she did a final walk-through to make sure she hadn't missed anything.

The hospital was shocked when she told them she was quitting. They offered her a leave of absence, but she had no idea if she was coming back, and it was already unfair of her to vacate her position on such short notice. Angela understood if they were mad, she hardly had a chance to say goodbye, and telling everyone she was leaving to join Overwatch did not seem like enough.

Her phone started buzzing. " _I bet that's the driver,_ " she thought. "Hello?"

"Hello. Your car has arrived for delivery to Emmen Military Air Base," an automated voice droned. "Please make sure to verify your driver and address before entering any vehicle. Have a safe trip."

Angela grabbed her suitcase and walked outside to the car. "This is for a Dr. Angela Ziegler heading to Emmen Military Air Base, correct?" she asked the man standing at the door.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

She got into the backseat while the driver put her luggage in the trunk and looked through her phone. Angela couldn't believe the flood of emails and texts she was getting - word spreads fast in a hospital - even patients were contacting her.

Her house faded from view as the car took her to her new home.

* * *

"Did you bark at the phone when she said yes?" Gabriel asked.

Jack yawned and looked over at Gabriel, "Excuse me?"

The morning was chilly as they waited for their newest addition to show up. Gabriel shrugged and mustered as stern of a face as he could. "Sometimes you morph into a golden retriever," he said, trying not to crack a smile. "I've seen it happen. Your tail goes flying and you look like you could catch a thousand tennis balls."

"You're a real smartass, Gabe. I should just shoot you, you know," Jack snapped. He turned and walked away, "Shut the fuck up."

Gabriel chortled and zipped his jacket up. He grew up in Los Angeles and didn't much like being cold, but he wanted to meet this doctor before they were on the plane.

He made his way down the tarmac as the car pulled up and the doors opened. A woman wrapped in a blue jacket and white scarf stepped out. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and if he could guess, he'd say she didn't tan very well.

"You must be our new doctor," he said as he walked up and stuck out his hand. "Name is Gabriel Reyes."

He studied her as she shook his hand and nodded, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reyes, Dr. Angela Ziegler. This will certainly be an ... interesting opportunity." Her handshake was firmer than he'd expected. She must have some spine.

Her eyes were as blue as his were brown, and not hard to look at. Jack was right.

He walked around to the back of the car and pulled out the suitcase. "Is this everything?"

"Oh I can take that, thank you." Angela reached for the suitcase, but Gabriel walked past her toward the plane. "Excuse me, Mr. Reyes, you don't need to carry my bag," she trotted after him, "I'm perfectly capable of carrying it."

"So am I, and Jack wouldn't let me live it down if I didn't," he shot over his shoulder.

Angela frowned, but followed after him.

Gabriel hauled the suitcase up the stairs into the plane, nodding at Jack. "She's right behind me, we should be set to get out of here. It's too damn cold in the morning."

"21 degrees Celsius is hardly cold, Mr. Reyes," Angela chimed in from behind him. "Good morning, Mr. Morrison."

"Doctor, I don't speak Celsius, but I do know it's cold," he set her bag down. "I'm from California, and if it's anything under 75 degrees, it's cold."

Angela smiled and leaned over to shake Jack's hand. "You must be a sensitive creature, then."

Jack snorted as Gabriel gave her a measured look. "You're new, Dr. Ziegler, so I will tell you this once. You do not know me, and as far as you are concerned, I am your superior."

He sat down and titled the seat back, pulling his beanie over his eyes.

Jack shook his head and handed Angela a water. "I'd recommend trying to sleep through the flight." Angela glanced at Gabriel and nodded to Jack as she sat down, "I'll do that."

The plane rumbled to life, and within minutes they were soaring into the air, destined for Zurich.

"Tschüs," she whispered, looking out the window.


	5. You've Arrived

"Heya Winston!"

"Wiiiiiiinston!"

"Did you hear the news?" Lena Oxton ran through the door of Overwatch's sprawling laboratories and looked around. "Oh Winston!" she shouted. She knew the big guy was around somewhere. "Got your favorite!"

Winston dropped down in front of her and snatched the banana. He had a particular soft spot for the sassy Brit, she filled the halls of Overwatch with much-needed laughter. "For the last time, no more bananas!" he pushed up his glasses. "Now what news are you talking about?"

Lena's smile almost split her face. "We've got a new doc! Jack 'n Cranky are on their way back with her now." Winston grinned, "If Gabriel ever hears you call him that, he'll be a little more than cranky," he said. "Do you know when they're arriving?"

"It's only across the country, and Switzerland isn't that big, so soon I'd bet," Lena said. "They left this morning. Apparently she's some wizkid doc, too! Found out some cool stuff about nano-somethings."

"Nanobiology," Winston was surprised. "They managed to get Dr. Angela Ziegler on board, then. Her research is fascinating, Lena, you should reall-"

"Ya ya ya sounds real fascinatin', I'm just happy to have another girl around."

Winston sighed. An interest in science was not one of Lena's many qualities. He turned around and headed to the back of the lab, "While you're here, come see the progress we've made on the Slipstream."

"Oh goody!" she bounced after him. "I can't wait to get my hands on that puppy. They better let me try it out, you know. Zipping in 'an out, no one will be able to catch me!" She leaped around the gorilla, shooting at unseen foes with her hands.

"We've got to make sure it's safe, first, Lena," Winston called up to the computers. "Athena, load Slipstream prototype test video 15."

"Loading Slipstream prototype test video 15," Athena replied.

"I still think you could make a killing having Athena read books on tape, ya know," Lena watched the massive projector come to life. "She's got such a pretty voice, kinda reminds me of when my gran used to tell me stories."

The projector flashed a bright light that made the two wince and cover their eyes. "I am the most powerful AI in the world, Lena Oxton," Athena rumbled. "Saying I should read books on tape is insulting, and I'm younger than you."

Lena leaned over and whispered to Winston, "My gran also called me by my full name when I was in trouble."

"I can hear you, Lena," Athena said.

"Enough," Winston gave Lena a pointed look. "Athena, please load the video."

"Yes, Winston."

"Whoaaaa..." Lena trailed off, silenced by the beautiful plane.

* * *

Angela had never been good at falling asleep on planes. There was just something about the seats, she couldn't get comfortable.

She looked over at the two men: Jack was passed out, his head lolling up and down, Gabriel was in the same position as when they'd left. It was almost out of place to see two soldiers sleeping. They looked delicate with their guards down.

Except Gabriel was an ass. " _You've just met him. Give him some time,"_ she chided herself. " _He's a soldier, maybe people skills aren't his thing._ "

"Please fasten your seat belts, we are beginning our descent."

She'd traveled to Zurich plenty of times, but never stayed too long because of the politics and chaos. She clicked her belt together and tightened the straps.

"If this plane crashes, that belt won't help," Gabriel stood up and rubbed his face.

Angela turned around to look at him. She wasn't quite sure how to address him anymore. "It may be more psychological than anything, but it'll stop you from cracking your head on the ceiling if we hit turbulence."

She watched him lean over and flick Jack's face. Jack grunted and jerked his head up, "Fuck off, Gabe," he swatted Gabriel's hand away. Gabriel laughed and sat down next to him, "I'll never understand how you sleep like that, doesn't it kill your neck?"

" _He's obviously capable of friendship,_ " Angela thought.

Jack rubbed his neck and collected the papers strewn across the table. "I'm trying to get things done. Bringing a new member on board," he nodded to Angela, "means endless paperwork. Dr. Ziegler, once we land, Overwatch will need you to fill out and verify some things. I'll find someone to give you a tour of the facilities and show you where you'll be staying."

"Thank you, Mr. Morrison."

The plane broke through the light cloud cover about 1,000 feet above the tarmac. The view was beautiful; a bright, sunny day brought a smile to her face. Tires slammed into the ground and the plane jerked back and forth before straightening out and gliding down the runway.

"Welcome to Zurich Airport," the pilot announced.

Thirty minutes later the trio was flying down the highway to Overwatch's headquarters. It took about an hour to get there, Jack had told her. She couldn't wait to get out of the car, sitting for too long made her antsy, and she was getting more and more excited to see what medical facilities Overwatch had to offer.

"Dr. Ziegler, while we have some time in the car, I'd like to go over a brief schedule of what you can expect from your first couple days," Jack said. "It will be chaotic, but Overwatch and the U.N. want you resuming your nanobiology research as soon as possible."

"Of course," she replied. "I'm eager to get started." Angela grabbed the paper he passed back and skimmed the itinerary as Jack started reading through it.

An hour later the car pulled up to a gatehouse flanked by massive walls and barbed wire. United Nations and Overwatch flags stood on either side of the gate. The driver and guard spoke briefly before the guard went back inside. " _This is supposed to feel safe,_ " Angela thought. " _But it just feels ominous, like it's hiding something very dangerous inside._ "

The gate inched open and the car pulled forward, giving Angela her first look at Overwatch.


	6. Pens And Paperwork

Cameras followed the car as it made its way down the road. Guards patrolled down paths leading up to an enormous building covered in steel. A large Overwatch symbol sat above the stretch of doors at the front of the building that were accommodating a constant stream of people in and out.

This is the central building, Jack explained to her. Specific Overwatch divisions had their own connected buildings: technology, weapons development, medical, living quarters and so on.

"I never realized Overwatch was so big," Angela peered out the window.

"That's not surprising, the media only covers a few members of the team closely," Gabriel said.

"Like you two," Angela smiled.

"Yes," Jack glanced at her. "Like us. Most people don't even realize we have a headquarters here. Winston, Lena Oxton, you may know her by her call name, Tracer, Reinhardt Wilhelm and others are all stationed here when they aren't in the field."

"How regularly are members sent on missions?"

"Frequently," Gabriel replied. "While the large-scale Omnic attacks are over, we're still mopping up small uprisings all over the world, and Talon's attacks are becoming more and more frequent. The Shimada Clan is having its own internal squabbles and has been quiet as of late, but that could change at any time. The U.N. leans on us pretty heavily to clean up what it doesn't want to."

The car pulled around to the entrance and they got out. A man was already taking her bag away by the time she turned around, "Excuse me!" she started after him. "Why does everyone keep taking my things?"

"Dr. Ziegler, it's fine," Jack said. "They need to make sure you're not bringing in anything you shouldn't, and then they'll deliver it to your living quarters."

Angela frowned, "Alright, then." She didn't like thinking about someone rummaging through her belongings, but from a safety standpoint it made sense.

"Jack, I've got some stuff I need to handle, since it looks like you've got this covered," Gabriel spared her a glance and walked away.

Her face must have betrayed her feelings, because Jack sighed and shook his head. "Gabriel has been in the military for a long time. He's more comfortable with a gun in his hands than playing recruiter. Try not to be too put off, he's a good man."

"I can understand that," she nodded. "Well, let's get this paperwork started, shall we?"

Jack took her into the building, through a metal detector and around to a plump woman at a desk. "Good afternoon Jack!" she beamed. "Oh it's so good to see you back safe and sound." Jack laughed, "Mrs. Johansson, I was only gone a few days, and doing absolutely nothing dangerous."

"Oh well you know how I get, always worrying about all my heroes."

Jack quickly looked at Angela and coughed, "Mrs. Johansson, as I've told you before, we're not heroes. Now, let me introduce Dr. Angela Ziegler, the newest member of Overwatch. She'll be leading our medical staff."

Before Angela could stop her, Mrs. Johansson had grabbed her hand and was shaking it vigorously. "Dr. Ziegler, a pleasure to meet you! It's so good to see someone new, these boys could use a few more pretty faces." Angela's face heated up, she shifted uncomfortable and pulled her hand away. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Johansson."

"Mrs. Johansson," Jack stared at her. "If we could get back on track, I need you to help Dr. Ziegler through her paperwork."

"Oh yes of course. Dr. Ziegler, if you could come with me." Jack turned to Angela, "Get yourself settled in and acquainted with the buildings. Someone will give you a tour after you're done here. We wanted you started on nanobiology research as soon as possible, so please take note of anything you made need and we will get it to you immediately."

"I will do that," Angela shook his hand. "Thank you." She turned back to Mrs. Johansson and dread fell over her; the woman's arms were filled with folders and paper, a pen resting on top. "Let's get started then," she mumbled.

Two hours later Angela dropped the pen and groaned. She stretched her fingers and stacked the papers together. It was official, Dr. Angela Ziegler was now a member of Overwatch. She walked back down the hall to Mrs. Johansson's desk and dropped off the paperwork. "Finally done," Angela said.

Just then, a young man walked up to her and stuck out his hand, "You must be my new boss. My name is Dr. Simon Schmidt, I'll be showing you around Overwatch."

"Pleased to meet you," Angela shook his hand. "I can't wait to see everything." She said goodbye to Mrs. Johansson and followed Schmidt. "Schmidt is German, what brought you to Overwatch?"

"I didn't feel like I was accomplishing anything. I was just going to work, coming home, sleeping, and doing it all over again. Overwatch approached me in the middle of the Omnic Crisis. They needed doctors, and it felt like the right thing to do, you know?" Simon pointed to hallway with a "Medical" sign above it. "This leads to the medical wards, including the surgical wing, rehab and diagnostic center, and research. You'll be spending most of your time here. Luckily for us, it's the closest facility to the main entrance."

The medical wing was extremely impressive; Jack hadn't been kidding when he said they had unlimited resources. Most equipment looked new or hardly used, and multiple doctors had introduced themselves and volunteered to assist with her research. " _I could make some real breakthroughs here,_ " she thought.

They were about to enter the technology and engineering department when a stocky, bearded man walked out. "Oh! Torbjorn, perfect timing," Simon gestured at Angela. "This is Dr. Angela Ziegler, she's the new research lead and head of medical, she arrived today."

"Ah! There she is," Torbjorn strode over. "Pleased ta meet ya! Name's Torbjorn Lindholm. I'm mighty interested in the work you've been doing on nanobiology, good ta have ya on board."

They chatted for a few more minutes before Simon broke in, "We have a lot left to cover, and I don't want to be dragging Dr. Ziegler around all day." Just then, Angela's stomach gurgled. "Oh, excuse me," she blushed. "I suppose I'm hungrier than I thought. Mr. Lindholm, it was nice to meet you."

The next few hours took Angela through every area of Overwatch. The grounds were enormous, and by the time they were done, she was pretty sure she was about to starve. "Simon, thank you so much for taking the time to show me around, but I'm about five minutes from falling over if I don't get something to eat."

"Oh! Yes, of course. If you head back down this way, you'll see signs to where you can get food. It's cafeteria style, and open 24 hours a day, so please help yourself. If there's anything else you need from me, you can find me in the medical wing."

Angela headed down to the cafeteria, but stopped short at the door. She was suddenly nervous, a horrible high school dread taking over: " _Where the hell am I going to sit?_ " she thought.

She didn't know anyone here, but she was ravenously hungry. " _Fine,_ " she pulled back her shoulders. " _You're a grown woman, and you are perfectly capable of getting food._ "

The cafeteria had every food she could think of, and within minutes she had a heaping salad overflowing with vegetables. Many of the tables were empty, so she sat down at one next to a window, taking in everyone around her. Lab coats, fatigues, suits and scrubs were scattered across the tables. " _Overwatch really is like its own little world, isn't it?_ "

Angela finished up her food and dropped her tray off. After a few wrong turns, she managed to get to the residential wing. The receptionist directed her up to floor four: a plain wooden door and the numbers "408" let her know she was in the right place. Simon had told her only certain high-level staff had living arrangements at Overwatch. It felt strange essentially living at work, but it meant she didn't have to worry about finding a place to live.

She could hardly complain, it was smaller than her place back home, but it had an en suite bathroom, kitchen, patio and living room with a guest bathroom. Her suitcase had been placed next to the bedroom door. Angela spent the next few minutes quietly hanging up her clothes, letting her mind wander to easy things, like what furniture she'd want to have shipped.

Mrs. Johansson had told her the rest of the day was free after Simon showed her around, and frankly, Angela was exhausted. She flopped onto the bed, letting the monotony of the fan lull her to sleep.

* * *

"We'll need to head out in the morning. Notify Ana, and tell Tracer to be on standby. This is shaping up to be a basic recon mission, so we should be back by the weekend." Gabriel looked over the information one more time; they'd been able to confirm the general location of a Talon arms depot, and Gabriel would be taking a team to confirm its location.

"Sounds good," Jack got up. "See you in the morning."

He should have been in bed hours ago, they'd be moving fast to secure the depot location, and being groggy could get him or one of his team killed. Once they did confirm the depot's location, Tracer would be sent in to blow it away.

Gabriel closed the laptop, tossed back the rest of his whiskey and went downstairs. Maintenance had put a couch in the weapons storage area because of how often Gabriel fell asleep there. Cleaning his guns was like counting sheep, knocked him out cold every time.

Five hours later Gabriel was standing in the shower letting the hot water run over his face. He was itching to get back into the field, and getting this depot locked down would deal a nasty blow to Talon's resources. It was pretty low risk, they weren't planning on engaging anyone, but he was always prepared with contingency plans.

He toweled off, put on his fatigues and pulled his beanie over his head. He nodded to Jack and Ana when they walked in.

"I want to leave in 15," Gabriel said.

"Good morning to you too, Gabriel," Ana replied. She pulled her sniper rifle off a rack and slung it over her shoulder. "I hear we have a new member on the team."

"Yes, Dr. Angela Ziegler, she arrived yesterday," Jack said, checking over his rifle. "Gabriel's warm demeanor was essential to getting her on board."

Ana chuckled and elbowed Gabriel, "You two go after each other like brothers, let's go."

* * *

The roar of a helicopter coming to life woke Angela up. She glanced at the clock - 4 a.m. - she hadn't meant to sleep for that long.

She walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back. Across the field a helicopter was humming, bright lights illuminating the landing pad. Three people emerged and made their way to the helicopter.

" _Wait,_ " Angela peered out the window. " _That's Mr. Morrison and Reyes._ " She couldn't identify the third, but they were all suited up, light glinting off their guns and armor. She sat by the window until the helicopter had disappeared into the night, taking the three somewhere she could only guess was dangerous. Simon had explained to her that while her primary job was to develop nanobiology tech, she could also be called upon for surgery in the event that staff was sparse.

Well, she was awake now. If they were working this early, she might as well be, too. Angela took a quick shower, threw on clothes and went down to the medical wing.


	7. Lena And Logs

Coffee.

My bitter, stained, diuretic love.

"Oh shit!" Angela panicked, grabbing the nearest absorbent material to mop up the coffee she'd just sloshed all over her notes. "Dammit dammit dammit, get your head on straight, Ziegler."

She threw the rag in the trash, "I think it's time for a walk," she mumbled, rubbing her hands over her eyes. The hospital had made her forget the black hole nanobiology sucked her into - she would down gallons of coffee and forget to eat or drink - and Overwatch brought it right back. Not that she was complaining, Angela loved the research, every hour she spent piecing together the puzzle meant a life saved.

Angela waved to Simon as she left the medical ward. It was a beautiful day outside, and she needed a moment to clear her head with some fresh air.

The sun shone bright above Overwatch. Thursday was officially her second day, and so far the medical staff and research assistants had been eager to help with her work. It was amazing how quickly she'd picked up on Overwatch's layout. She had narrowed getting lost down to once a day.

Jack and Gabriel weren't back from whatever mission they were off to, not that anyone would tell her much. She hardly knew the pair, but it felt a lot lonelier without them around. Burying her head in molecules, atoms and regeneration wasn't leaving a lot of time to socialize. " _You're not here to socialize, you're here to change the world,_ " Angela told herself. Enough of standing around, there was more work to do.

"Simon, what is the largest obstacle facing a patient with massive trauma?"

"The body is unable to stabilize itself, cells can't regenerate and heal quickly enough," Simon answered.

"And that," Angela pointed her pen at him, "is what we need to solve. We need to find a way to utilize nanobiology to level the playing field. Imagine if cells fixed themselves - regenerated - faster than the damage done to them? You could be hit by a bullet, and as it was travelling through you, your body was closing and healing the wound, so by the time it exited, it is as if you were never hit in the first place."

"Do you really think that's possible?" Simon asked.

"I do," Angela nodded. "But we need to figure out how to apply nanobiology to each individual atom, each molecule. How can we do that on such a small scale?"

Simon stared at her. "I have no idea, Dr. Ziegler."

She snorted, "Ya, neither do I. But we will."

Her phone alarm went off, letting her know it was 5 p.m.

Simon yawned and stretched, "Dr. Ziegler, are you staying?" Angela nodded, taping her pen against her temple, "So little time to unlock the secrets of the world, Dr. Schmidt. See you tomorrow."

Angela turned the alarm off and went back to work; others may call it a day at 5 p.m., she did not.

Two hours later she was squinting at her notes, frustrated. Defined structures wouldn't work, no, it needed to be more fluid, something capable of molding itself. Angela drew a line through her notes; she was back to square one.

"Got ya!"

"AHHH!" Angela shrieked and fell out of her chair, papers flying off the desk.

A mop of brown hair poked its way over her chair, "You alright?" Lena asked. "That looks like it hurt."

"I'm ok," Angela stood up and collected her notes. "Wait. You're Tracer, right?"

"Ah, I love it when people know me! That's just great. Call me Lena, will ya? I'm Tracer when I'm sitting in the cockpit," Lena smiled. "No one's seen you around since ya got here, so I decided to come find you!"

"Oh, that's kind of you, I wanted to get straight to work."

"Right right on those nano-somethings. Winston tried to explain it to me."

Lena stepped back and gestured at the door, "Come on! Let's go!"

"Excuse me?" Angela stared at her.

"You don't think I'm going to run in here, scare you half to death and then leave, do ya? Winston 'an I are taking you to dinner! And by dinner, I mean the cafeteria."

"I've still got work to finish, Tra-Lena, but thank you for the invitation," Angela went to grab her notes. Lena snatched them up, "Not so fast, doc! Winston's already waiting, and you look like you haven't eaten anything all day."

She had Angela there - she hadn't. Lena was right, Angela hadn't had a chance to meet anyone. "Alright, then. Let's go."

"Cheers!" Lena spun on her heel and marched out the door, Angela in tow.

It took Angela a minute to process the easily 400-pound gorilla in glasses standing at the entrance to the cafeteria. She'd read about the colony on the Moon, but seeing it in person was ... impressive.

"Dr. Angela Ziegler, it's wonderful to finally meet you. Welcome to Overwatch. My name is Winston. I run the science division here."

"And occasionally kick butt in the field!" Lena chimed in.

"Ahem, yes. I do also participate in certain Overwatch missions," Winston clarified, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Angela smiled, "It's lovely to meet you, Winston. Thank you for taking the time to find me, as I've been neglectful."

"We can't have Gabriel and Jack being your only impression of Overwatch," Winston quipped. "Ya!" Lena said. "We're not all rough-around-the-edges soldier types."

"Oh they weren't so bad, I wouldn't be here if not for Jack, he can be very persuasive," Angela said. "Now, let's eat? I'm starving."

Thirty minutes later the trio was laughing over bellies full of food. "'N I said, I said," Lena giggled into a piece of cake. "Gabriel, if you didn't have such a log stuck up your bum, maybe you'd sleep better."

Winston shook his head in his hands.

"I may 'ave been grounded from missions for a month, but it was totally worth it," Lena grinned.

Angela laughed, " _What a character this girl is,_ " she thought. But Lena had been right, she needed to take a break from work for the day. She felt more relaxed than she had in days. "Now, I know you aren't all cooped up in here day and night, aside from missions. Where do you all go to drink?" Angela asked.

"Ooo a drinkin' doc," Lena gave her the thumbs up. "That's my favorite kind. There's a few local bars near Overwatch. Selection ain't great, but they've all been vetted by Overwatch, so at least we don't have to worry about being blown up."

"Blown ... up?"

"Dr. Ziegler," Winston interrupted. "What Lena means is that, now that the Omnic Crisis is mostly subdued, people have less to worry about, and more time to criticize. Despite all the good Overwatch has done, there are people out there that do not like us."

"That makes sense, I suppose," Angela replied. "I'd just love a glass of wine."

"Oh oh Winston let's go Saturday! I'll be off call by then, and we can celebrate!" Lena winked at Angela. "That'll be perfect, no better way to get to know people than with some music and spirits."

Angela laughed, "that sounds lovely, Lena."

They dropped their plates off and Angela said good night to the pair at the door. "Thank you again for dinner," she said.

"Nooo prob-lemo!" Lena waved as they walked away. "Goodnight, Dr. Ziegler, please come by some time, I think you would enjoy meeting Athena, my AI," Winston said.

"Absolutely, Winston. Thank you." Lena and Winston disappeared around the corner, leaving Angela alone.

She made her way back to her room, changed into pajamas, put a kettle on the stove and took a book off her nightstand. Angela loved reading, there was something about the quiet simplicity of it: no electronics, no screen, only stories that could absorb her better than any movie. She curled up on the deck, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, tea in one hand, book in the other.

She could get used to this.


	8. Bombs Away!

The chopper landed 30 minutes outside Munich, about a mile away from the suspected depot. Germany took a beating during the Omnic Crisis, and Talon had used the cover of war to create a foothold in the country.

It had carried out seven bombings in the past three months - a high amount for any terrorist group - and they were there to take out Talon's main source of firepower.

Well, technically, Tracer was going to do the taking out. Gabriel, Jack and Ana were there to confirm the depot's location.

Ana, their eye in the sky, was already gone. She would travel the rooftops keeping watch over Gabriel and Jack, alerting them to, and often taking out, any threats.

Their earpieces crackled to life, "This is Horus." Ana had picked Horus as her call sign when she joined Overwatch. The Eye of Horus, a symbol of protection, was tattooed under her left eye.

"Send it," Gabriel motioned Jack forward.

"I'm one klick East of your position, red roof. Everything looks quiet, over."

"Copy," Gabriel replied.

Gabriel and Jack moved toward the cluster of storage lockers in the distance. "Five rows, look about 10 deep each," Gabriel held up two fingers to the right. "Jack, take the right two rows, I'll take the left, converge center."

"Wilco," Jack split off.

Gabriel flicked the pulse pistol's safety off. He preferred shotguns. Unfortunately, aside from the noise and weight issues on a recon mission, they were not ideal when surrounded by an unknown amount of explosives. The sun would be peaking over the horizon soon, he guessed they had about 20 minutes to get in and out.

Flood lights illuminated the storage facility, "This is Gabriel," he said as he looked around, it seemed like they were alone.

"Send your traffic," Ana's cheek rested against the cool metal of her sniper rifle.

"I'm in position, Hor-"

"Standby," Ana leaned into the scope. Something had moved. She scanned down the rows, looking for any signs of life. The groan of metal had Ana's gun twisting around to a storage locker door opening.

"Row two, eighth door in. Movement, door is open," adrenaline rushed over her. "Two men, over."

"This is Jack. Can you confirm visual on munitions, over."

"Negative. Gabriel, they're headed your way, over."

"Copy, out." Gabriel heard their footsteps coming at him. Any Talon operatives that were stationed at a depot would not be a threat.

Jack ducked and headed to the open locker; Gabriel didn't need his help, and they didn't have time to waste once Gabriel had acquainted himself with their new friends. He made his way down row two to the open door. Boxes, steel drums, tarps. "What are you hiding," Jack walked up to the tarp and threw an edge back. Neatly packed rockets greeted him. " _These pack a punch, there must be at least a dozen,_ " he thought. "This is Jack. I have visual on the rockets, we're in the right place, over."

"This is Horus, roger." The men were almost to Gabriel, and almost dead. They were supposed to avoid engaging, but they couldn't risk Talon moving any of the rockets before Tracer got there.

Gabriel pulled a knife out and moved his finger to the trigger. " _Ven aca, amigos._ "

He whipped around the corner, plunging the knife into the first man's chest. A bullet ripped through the second man's head - he was dead before he hit the ground.

The first man lay gurgling on the ground, a collapsed lung pushing a bubble of blood down his chin. Gabriel squatted next to him and wiped the knife across his chest, "Sorry, pal," he said, tucking the knife back in its sheath. "Looks like depot duty was more dangerous than you realized."

"This is Gabriel," he stood up, glancing down as the man struggled to breath. "Targets neutralized," he said, and then shot the operative in the head.

Ana stood up, slung her rifle over her shoulder and dusted herself off. She never liked watching Gabriel kill people, there was something chillingly ruthless about it. "This is Horus, calling in the strike. I'll see you boys back at the chopper, over."

"Copy," Gabriel kicked the gun away from the dead man's hand. "Jack, let's move, out."

The trio boarded the helicopter for their two-hour flight home.

Ana sat down while the chopper roared to life, folding her arms across her chest as she stared at Gabriel. "You didn't have to kill those men," she said.

"Two lives in exchange for how many civilians?" Gabriel shot back. "I'm not going to knock people out who will get back up after I leave and move those damn rockets. You didn't have to put any notches on your rifle, so calm down."

"Gabriel lay off," Jack put his hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "He's not wrong, Ana. Sometimes death is necessary, you know that."

Force of habit had Ana rubbing her finger across the grooves scratched into her sniper rifle. She marked every life she took - good or bad - and they all weighed on her. "I know."

Gabriel pulled his beanie over his eyes; he needed a drink. He'd never had an issue sleeping before the Soldier Enhancement Program, now most of the time he could only get to sleep if the bottle pulled him under or he had sex - only one of those was in steady supply at Overwatch.

"I've got confirmation Tracer is en route," Ana said. "This should make Talon pipe down for awhile. Jack, you'll have to introduce me to our new doctor when we get back."

"Of course. Speaking of, when is Faareha getting back? I miss that little rugrat."

"Little rugrat indeed," Ana smiled. "Soon. She has been visiting family, although if you asked her she'd make you think I sent her away."

"Did you?" Jack asked.

"Yes and no," Ana sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I want my child to know more in the world than Overwatch, more than battle and heroes and fighting. And her grandmother misses her."

"I think you're doing a good job, Ana." Jack looked out the window at the ground flying by. "I can't believe you've found time to raise a kid when you're busy saving the world from robots, terrorists and drug cartels." He laughed and grinned at Ana, "She's getting to that age, you know, it's practically her job to be mad at you."

Ana chuckled, "You're right. If she's anything like me, I'm in for it."

They settled into a comfortable silence, letting the drum beat of the helicopter's blades occupy their thoughts.

* * *

Lena roared above the clouds; she was never happier than when she was soaring through the skies.

The A-10 wasn't the fastest baby in the fleet, but it had the boom power to blow Talon's arms depot to hell and back. It wouldn't take her long to get there, anyway. She remembered how the United Nations had squabbled for awhile over what country's firepower it should employ; America won the day, at least with air-to-surface prowess. The A-10 had been flying since the 1970s - long before she was alive - and after so many years, with some slight modifications, it was still an excellent plane. She couldn't believe the Americans had tried to take it out of service.

The phone call woke her up around 6 a.m. and she was in the cockpit by 6:15. With the Omnic Crisis winding down, she didn't get to fly as much as she'd like, but she had big plans for the Slipstream once Winston and his team were done with it.

The depot blipped onto her radar. Lena pulled the plane through the clouds, "This is Tracer. Target locked. Requesting authorization to fire."

Static buzzed her ear before a voice broke through, "Authorization granted, happy hunting Tracer."

"Bombs away!" she shouted, pushing the red button and banking left.

"This is Tracer. Requesting confirmation on target status."

"Confirmed. Target destroyed. Sending return route now."

And that was that. Sometimes she wished she could fly for hours, these missions went by so fast. But Lena could hardly complain; Overwatch tapped her when she was young, and she'd been able to lead an incredible life. The people she'd met - Winston, Ana, Jack, Torb - were practically her family now, and she'd do anything for them. Not to mention saving the world for a day job was pretty stinkin' cool.

Little lights blinked and pulsed, creating a light show of information. " _How in the world did people back in the day fly planes without all this?_ " she wondered. One part determination, one part reckless stupidity, she wagered. Flight school taught her all about aeronautics' beginnings. The crazy Wright Brothers in that rickety contraption they called a plane - she swore Americans were always the first to try something ridiculous. Lena owed a lot to those brothers, living her life up in the sky, she'd have it no other way.

And fortunately for her, technology had advanced just far enough that she'd have time to go back to bed when she got back, which was nice.


	9. That's It!

Overwatch was never really quiet, but dawn and dusk usually provided the best chance for it.

There was a nice path that wound its way around the entire complex, probably about a mile long. A heavy fog had settled itself inside the walls, as if trying to keep everyone asleep for just a minute longer. But it was 6:30 a.m., and Angela was going for a jog.

Getting a run in and stretching her limbs before work was a great way to clear her head. It was like taking a cold shower, except she hated cold showers.

About a third of the way down the path, a finger popped her earbud out. "Good morning, Dr. Ziegler," Jack matched her stride. "Mind if I join you?"

"Jack," Angela's face lit up. "I keep telling you to call me Angela, you're not one of my interns."

"Well excuse me, Angela, military habits die hard." They weaved around a guard, panting in the crisp morning air. "I'm surprised I haven't caught you out here before. Not many people enjoy morning runs."

"Ha, I prefer to run alone," she laughed, smacking his arm as his face fell. "You're fine, seriously. It's nice to have company sometimes. Any fun plans for the weekend?"

"What's that word? Weekend? I wasn't sure you knew what that meant. If I knew any better I'd think you were trying to make us old timers look bad."

Angela shook her head and pulled away from him. Overwatch didn't even have real weekends, it's not like the world stopped being threatened at 5 p.m. Friday, and everyone kept giving her grief about it. "Try to keep up, old man," she called over her shoulder.

"Seriously," Jack wheezed when they came to a stop by the residential ward. "I was just giving you shit, there's always a few of us that are around who grab drinks either Friday or Saturday. It's important. You're a part of this team, Angela, you should come."

Sweat trickled down her brow. " _I can't argue with that,_ " she thought. "Ok, you're right. I feel guilty doing much of anything until I produce something with nanobiology."

"You'll get there. We wouldn't have hired you if we thought someone else could do it faster. I bet you need to take a break, let your head unwind."

"Heh. Well if that's not motivational I'm not sure what is. I'll see you later, Jack."

Shoes off. Clothes in hamper. Shower, towel, bra, underwear, pants, top, lab coat, coffee. Angela hurried through the main lobby toward the medical ward. With Simon's help she'd been making good progress, and today felt like a good day. Weekends blurred into the rest of the week at Overwatch, and Simon didn't seem to mind working, so they'd keep hammering away.

"Good morning, Mrs. Johansson," Angela waved at the forever-cheery woman. Mrs. Johansson poked her head over the reception desk. "Have a wonderful Saturday, dear, don't spend all day cooped up in that lab of yours!"

" _Shoot!"_ Angela closed the door behind her just as Lena's voice echoed from somewhere nearby. She was becoming quite skilled at avoiding the peppy Brit ever since she bailed on drinks two weeks before. Guilt gnawed at her, Lena meant well, nevertheless, she couldn't pull herself away from work. There had to be some breakthrough, some advancement - then it would be time to celebrate.

She'd also met the rest of the core members of Overwatch: Gérard and Amélie Lacroix, who previously had been gone on a mission in the Middle East, and Reinhardt Wilhelm, an infectiously loud, hulking figure of a man. She'd heard of Reinhardt before, you had to live under a rock not to have. He'd been the literal shield between life and death for some soldiers in the Omnic Crisis. Brave, a true knight in shining armor, with a personality to match. Amélie and Gérard were pleasant enough; she could never quite tell if French women were bitches or just reserved. " _Now that's a true power couple,_ " she mused. " _I can hardly imagine going on missions with a husband, how does love not distract them?_ " Angela wasn't the most emotional person around, but she didn't want to think about someone she cared about getting shot at.

"Good morning, Dr. Ziegler!" Simon handed over a file. "You should take a look at this, I had a few ideas I think you might find interesting."

"Wonderful, thank you, Simon." Angela sat down and scanned over the notes. Time to get to work.

Tests were running, machines were humming, and Angela and Simon stared at an enormous white board covered in writing. "You know," Simon tapped the board with his pen. "I bet this is what Einstein felt like."

Angela burst out laughing. "You're seriously comparing us to Einstein, Simon? The man who came up with the theory of relativity, E=mc2?"

"Well," he shrugged sheepishly. "We might be about to revolutionize medicine, I bet he'd think that's pretty neat."

"I'm sure he'd think it was very neat," rolling her shoulders and setting her marker down, Angela nodded at the door. "We've made some good progress, that should be enough for the day. I'll be back here tomorrow, I don't expect you to be."

"Alright, thank you. Are you going to stop avoiding Lena now?"

"Oh," Angela put her hands on her hips. "You sound just like Jack. I'm trying to save lives, you know."

They stacked papers and turned off computers, working through the slow process of shutting down a lab. "I know," Simon gave her a lopsided grin. "I plan on swinging by tonight, if you need some backup."

"Dr. Angela Ziegler does not need backup," she huffed. "Besides, I already got grief from Jack this morning. I'll need a drink to deal with all the nagging."

Angela hung up her lap coat, Simon flipped off the lights, and the pair left the medical ward, only to be met by Lena and Reinhardt. "Have it, guys!" Simon gave them the thumbs up and darted to safety.

"Simon! Did you trick me?"

Lena laughed, "Quick Simon, run before she catches you!"

"Sorry, boss! You said you could use a drink!" Angela watched helplessly as Simon disappeared; she felt like she'd been abandoned to the wolves. "Hallo! Now, ze only place you're going is with us, doctor!" Reinhardt's hands on her shoulders steered her out the front door. "All work and no play makes for a boring young lady."

"Good grief, I am not boring!" Angela couldn't even be mad, she should count herself lucky to be surrounded by people so intent on getting to know her.

A short car ride later, Angela found herself outside of bar called "The Bandit." "It's one of our favorite places," Lena explained. "And it has karaoke!"

"No no no," Angela waved her hands, "I'm sorry I do not do karaoke. My voice is as good at hurting people as my hands are at healing them."

"Come now!" She almost fell over as Reinhardt clapped his hand on her back. "Happiness is inside."

They made their way into the bar; patrons sat at tables and bar stools chatting, some she recognized from Overwatch, some she didn't. It was certainly a nice place. Bartenders buzzed back and forth, garnishing, shaking, pouring and stirring. Rock thumped in the background to two men throwing darts. A bartender, slim with tattoos snaking up his arms, met them at the bar. "Evening, Tracer, Reinhardt, blow anything up lately?"

"You know we can't tell ya that!" With a wink Lena introduced Angela. "Pete, this is our new doc! 'Er name is Angela, and she needs a drink. Reinhardt 'n I will have the usual."

"Nice to meet you, Pete. I'd love whatever your house red is, please."

They chatted for a few minutes until Pete brought their drinks, then wandered over to a corner table. "This is our usual spot," Lena said. "Most regs know not to take it. It's the only place in the bar where Reinhardt is comfortable," she giggled and dodged around the table. "It is not my fault!" He sank into a chair. "I was born big-boned." Angela took a seat. Sipping on her wine, the doctor let her work slide off her shoulders. "Thank you, both. Lena, I'm sorry it took me so long to come out."

"Oh you're fine love! We're just glad you're here."

A drink later Angela was back at the bar trying to grab Pete's attention. It had become significantly more crowded in the 20 or some minutes they'd been there, and Angela could see why they loved that table. Reinhardt was a hysterical character, telling her story after story of his and Overwatch's adventures in the height of the Omnic Crisis. As Pete walked by, she tried raising her hand for the third time - no luck.

A rumbling voice next to her suddenly had Pete heading their way. Gabriel crossed his arms and leaned against the bar, looking her up and down. "Nice of you to join us, doctor."

She didn't have time to reply before Gabriel was talking to Pete, "Whistlepig, neat, Peroni and whatever the lady is having."

"Hello to you, too." Angela hesitated. He was intimidating; she had no idea what to say. "Uh, yes, I've been meaning to. Erhm, I hope everything's well?"

Lena, Jack and Reinhardt watched the visibly strained exchange across the bar. Jack and Gabriel had walked in together, and he was getting Jack's drink. "You should go rescue her, Jack. It's not really fair letting him harass her like that," Lena nudged him. "She's fine." Jack replied. "Gabe's just being Gabe, she'll find her bearings soon enough."

Gabriel grabbed the whiskey and beer from the bartender, a smile breaking over his face. "Dr. Ziegler, you sound nervous." He took a sip of the brown liquid, staring at her over the rim of his glass. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Heat raced over her cheeks, climbing up her temples and lighting up her forehead. She grabbed the wine from Pete and met Gabriel's dark eyes. "Mr. Reyes, you're not very good at first impressions." A snort was the only reply she got. Angela spun around and marched back to the table, willing her face to stop giving away how flustered she was.

A third of her glass slid down her throat as she sat down at the table, eyes darting between the three people staring at her. A momentary silence was broken when Jack burst out laughing. "I'm glad you're here, Angela. How's Gabe doing?"

"What the heck!" Angela set her glass down a little too hard. "Seriously, am I being hazed or something? Is there some weird Overwatch initiation ritual I'm missing out on?"

Reinhardt's body was shaking with silent laughter. "Ze man is giving you a hard time. I say you give it right back."

Three glasses later, Reinhardt was pounding the table with laughter, Lena was animatedly explaining a bombing run and Jack and Gabriel were talking in hushed tones about something she could only guess was oh-so-important. Perhaps she was a bit tipsy. And by tipsy she meant drunk. Whatever. She couldn't relax, it felt like every time she looked Gabriel's way, he caught her eye. " _Ok you know what,_ " she thought to herself. " _This is ridiculous. Obviously he's just being mister tough guy. I've been elbow deep in chest cavities, I'm not letting him get to me ... More than he already has._ "

"Tell me," she pointed her wine glass at his whiskey. "Where did you learn to like such a horrible drink?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Jack held up his beer, which promptly found itself travelling down his arm. "Gabe, I don't know why you love whiskey so much, shit tastes like battery acid."

Gabriel swirled his glass around, contemplating it for a moment before throwing the rest back. "I grew up watching my dad drink it. Same reason most people have a preference, I suppose. You like red wine because it makes you feel fancy?"

Her lips twitched, giving away the smile she was trying to hide. "I would never presume to tease my superior, Mr. Reyes."

"And the match goes to the doc!" Lena launched up and shouted. The table roared as they stared at each other. Gabriel pushed his chair back and stood up, "Anyone else need a drink?"

It wasn't much later that Angela was fumbling with her door, key trying to go everywhere except inside the lock. "God dammit..." she mumbled, finally getting it unlocked and stumbling inside. She wobbled her way into the bathroom and turned on the shower; The Bandit was a nice bar, but she definitely needed a shower.

She about fell over trying to take her pants off, eventually managing to detangle herself from her clothes and step into the shower. "Ahhhh," she moaned, a nice warm shower was exactly what the doctor ordered. Minutes ticked by, steam crept up the mirror. Droplets pattered across her eyelids. " _Water is so_ _rejuvenating,"_ drunk Angela's mind was trying to be deep. " _So enveloping, if only everything could be like..._ "

Angela's eyes snapped open. "Oh my god. That's it."

"THAT'S IT!" She shouted. Angela scrambled to turn off the shower, hop out and dry off. She frantically punched Simon's number into her phone, throwing her clothes back on.

"Hrnnng... Hello?"

"Simon get up. GET UP I FIGURED IT OUT!"

"Wha-? Ok. Ok. I'll be there in 20." Angela was already running down the hall by the time Simon hungup.

"Looks like Jack was right," Angela laughed, janitors stared as she sprinted into the lab. "I just needed a drink."


	10. Caduceus

Minutes bled into hours into days as Torbjorn, Winston and Angela's staff worked feverishly to piece together what was only being called Caduceus.

It had been one month since Angela's drunken frolic in the shower had sparked the revelation that was rewriting battlefield medicine. No staff was allowed in the medical wing unless authorized by one of the three project leads. From the early hours of the morning until the sun had long set in the sky, people buzzed in and out; engineers with armfuls of designs, research assistants with coffee (and the occasional tub of peanut butter) and delivery staff bringing in parts and pieces.

Winston and Torbjorn had successfully brushed off the peppering of questions from the likes of Lena, Jack, Gabriel, Ana and Gerard. No one had even seen Angela, she'd set up a cot in the medical ward, and was using the sanitation shower in the brief moments she allowed herself to get cleaned up.

Torbjorn provided the mechanical prowess to come up with a design for the suit and staff. His only condition was that Angela help him on future projects once they finished hers; she agreed. Winston lent his chronal knowledge to what Angela had dubbed the "beams" and "resurrection." Initial tests had proved promising, her theory was holding. Like the flow of water pouring over her in the shower, a beam of healing nanobiological energy would tether itself to the nearest organic creature to her. This tether blanketed the recipient in accelerated healing through nanobiology as long as the connection was in place. There had been initial concerns that someone connected to the tether while not wounded would develop cancer cells, as the rapid cell turnover and repair the staff applied would go overboard without any actual damaged elements. Thankfully, testing seemed to indicate that was not the case.

The only major point of contention was the second tether. Torbjorn had insisted on it, arguing with Angela relentlessly about its necessity. While the primary beam healed, the secondary beam enhanced weapon functionality. Anything that did damage, the tether amplified: bullets flew faster, hammers hit harder, rockets made a bigger bang. Winston played mediator when Angela threatened to scrap the project over the second beam. Angela was staunchly opposed, she did not want to directly contribute to the deaths of others. It took a few days of arduous effort on Winston's part, but she eventually relented. While the beam amplified damage, that could potentially save the life of the person she was using it on.

What had originally been a design for just the staff now included an entire suit. Its defenses were minimal, but it allowed the wearer basic gliding and propulsion systems. Winston and Torbjorn had tried to talk her into a more practical suit design. She declined. Angela envisioned a beacon of hope on the battlefield, a symbol allies near and far could see, and know help was on the way.

"Angela, I think we're just about there," Winston pushed his glasses up his nose and leaned back to study their handiwork.

"So do I, Winston, so do I." Angela traced her fingers across the feather-like wings coming off the back of the suit. "I think I'm going to name it the Valkyrie Swift-Response Suit, or VSRS. What do you think?"

"Oh, such potential!" Torbjorn chimed in. "She's your baby, name her what you like."

"Valkyrie it is," she reached up and grabbed the halo off its mount, "Should we give her a try?"

* * *

15 reps, 10 sets.

Gabriel grunted as he pulled himself up; sweat trickled its way down his temple, threatening his concentration with a nagging itch.

Up, down, up, down. Working out relaxed him, and the gym seemed like the only damn place in Overwatch he didn't have to hear about whatever the hell the doc, monkey and midget were doing.

He finished the set, dropped to the floor and grabbed a towel at the water fountain. He hadn't made his mind up about the doctor. She was easy to look at, but he couldn't decide if her sass made him want to fire her or fuck her. Maybe a little of both. " _D_ _esestresarse_ ," Gabriel thought as he threw the towel in a bin at the shower entrance. Warm water poured over him as he stepped into the shower, willing his restless mind to relax for a moment. Sometimes he wished he was a no-good teenager again, smoking weed in his basement and stealing malts from the 7-Eleven.

It was an easier time, despite the constant threat of gang violence. A judge had saved him from that life. Gabriel smoothed soap over skin and tattoos, reminiscing on the black robes that had saved his life.

"Can you tell me your name, please?" Steel eyes pierced through him from atop an oaken bench.

He clenched his fists, meeting the old man's gaze, "Gabriel Reyes."

"You are here on five counts of aggravated assault. Does that sound correct Mr. Reyes?"

"More like self-defense," he said to himself.

"Excuse me, Mr. Reyes, men do not mumble in my courtroom. Does that sound correct?"

"Yes."

"Now, this is your first time in a courtroom?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Reyes," the judge leaned forward, studying the angry, tensed young man. "Why do you look so upset?"

He didn't know what to say. Gabriel stared back, not sure if it was a trick. "Uh, it just seems like defending my mom, myself, is a stupid reason to be here."

A pause hung over the mostly empty room. A bailiff watched from the corner. His thoughts traveled to his mom, in some hospital being poked and prodded by doctors because she tried to protect her son. His dad wasn't there. Gabriel didn't care - he was used to being alone.

Creaking of a chair brought Gabriel out of his thoughts. The judge had shifted, watching him like a hawk watches the poor rabbit it's about to eviscerate. "I want you to tell me what happened. From what I've been told, you took down an impressive amount of men, most I believe in a gang, most I've probably talked with like this, and I'd like to know why."

" _Is this old man fucking with me?_ " Gabriel wondered. He assumed people like this were busy trying to hand out as many sentences as they could cram into each nine to five.

"Mr. Reyes?"

Gabriel squared his shoulders and met the judge's eyes. "I live in a bad part of town. Dad isn't around much, and mom does her best to take care of me. I'm sure you get this shit-"

"Do not curse at the judge," the bailiff cut him off.

"Lo siento," he shot back. "A gang has been messing around lately, causing trouble. Vandalizing, stealing, beating people up. The cops weren't doing anything, whatever. They tried to start something with my mom. They were pushing her, trying to take her purse. She's way too stubborn, didn't give the stupid thing to them, and so one of them hit her."

He sucked in a long breath to steady himself; he had nothing to lose, might as well incriminate himself straight to the top. "I beat the hell out of them. No one touches my mom. I made sure they'd never touch her again."

A heavy silence fell over the courtroom. Judge and accused in a desperately one-sided battle, one struggling at the noose around his neck, the other not yet content to pull the lever. After what seemed like hours, the judge nodded to himself and stood up. "Mr. Reyes, I do not condone violence. The law says you should serve time because you had the unfortunate timing of defending your family a few weeks after turning 18."

"But," he paused. "You've managed to go these 18 years without falling into a gang, or getting arrested or causing trouble, and I believe that is commendable. So is defending your mother, something I hope any man would do. Because of these things, I'm going to recommend charges be dismissed, on one condition."

Gabriel's ears were ringing. The fuck did the old man just say?

"You obviously have a protective nature, and you can obviously hold your own. I want you to enlist."

What. Gabriel blinked. His mind moved at a glacial pace, trying to process what he'd just said.

"Does this sound reasonable, Mr. Reyes?"

"Yes," his mouth answered before his mind could.

That old man - Gabriel had no idea if he was even still alive - had put him on the path to Overwatch. " _Gracias,_ " he thought.

"The fuck are you daydreaming about, siestas and tacos?" Gerard's voice ripped Gabriel out of his thoughts and back into a bathroom now occupied by his naked ass plus one.

"This is gay," he growled, turning off the shower and grabbing his towel. "And where the fuck have you been? I half think your and Amelie's missions are just an excuse to go bang on some rooftop."

"Well of course, nothing keeps the romance alive like sweet, passionate lovemaking around the corpses of our enemies."

"You're fucking weird, Gerard," he laughed. "The hell do you want? Got a sixth sense to come bug me the one time I'm relaxed?"

"Woah woah," Gerard feigned disgust. "I don't need to know about your relaxing habits. Jack and I have been trying to find you for the last 20 minutes, that big project Dr. Ziegler's been working on is apparently done."

"Jesus I'm so sick of hearing about this mysterious thing. What is it?"

"Hell if I know, let's go find out."

* * *

She'd have to get used to the body suit, that's for sure. It clung everywhere. Angela flexed elbows and knees, testing for any pinching or discomfort.

"It feels good," she finally turned to Winston. Torbjorn had left some time before, on to the next project. "I don't think we'll have to make any adjustments."

"Wonderful," he said. "Let's do another circuit."

"Ya!" Lena said. "This thing is stinkin' sweet. You gotta let me try it some time!"

Overwatch had a football field-sized open terrain area for drills they'd been practicing in for the last hour. Each portion of the suit and staff had to be rigorously tested.

Simon stood about 40 feet down the field. Angela broke into a sprint, "Ich bin da," she whispered, activating Valkyrie's guardian angel propulsion.

Winston watched as VSRS's wings illuminated and Angela soared across the field to Simon, landing gracefully at his side. A little showy, sure, but beautiful. If Angela wanted to send a message, a literal angel on the battlefield was it.

A door opened behind him and Ana, Jack, Gabriel, Amelie and Gerard walked in. "Shut the fuck up..." Jack trailed off, the men struck into silence by the glowing woman in white.

"Hmph," Angela huffed. The people she really needed to convince had arrived; might as well give herself a fancy entrance before the barrage of questions. She jogged forward and engaged the suit on Jack, jumping as it launched her toward him.

"Oh my," Ana said as Angela landed in front of Jack. "Can that go up?"

"Yes," she smiled. "I, or whoever pilots the Valkyrie Swift-Response Suit, could reach you on any rooftop."

Jack's mouth hung slack, the men couldn't help but give her a once over, or thrice over. The collective hive mind of man had shut down.

"It is rude to stare," Winston said as he walked up behind her. "As she explained, this is the Valkyrie Swift-Response Suit, an in-field medic outfit designed to provide immediate assistance to soldiers on the battlefield."

"And this," Angela held up the staff. "Is the Caduceus Staff, the breakthrough we've all been waiting for. It's capable of near-instantaneous healing of any wounds sustained to the body. It also has the capability to amplify damage output."

"And bring back the dead!" Lena chimed in.

That was enough to snap the boys out of their stupor. "Bring back the dead." Gabriel repeated.

"Correct," Angela nodded. "Through Winston's chronal research and my nanobiology tech, the Caduceus Staff can revive fallen soldiers by, to put it simply, setting them back in time by a few seconds and rapidly repairing any damage in the process."

"This really works?" Amelie cocked her head to the side. "Anyone here have a cut or something? Gerard, you're always hurting yourself."

"Merci beaucoup," he rolled his eyes.

"No, please. It will work on any injury, and I would love to show you all," Angela motioned to Gerard.

Gerard shrugged and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a particularly ugly bruise across his back. Angela pointed the staff at him and pressed a button. Yellow light burst out the front of the staff, enveloping Gerard's back. Purple, black and blue quickly became green and yellow before fading into nothing. Angela released the trigger, an enormous smile covering her face. "It can do so much more than that, a gunshot wound, knife, it will heal any injury."

"Who's going to pilot this thing?" Gabriel asked. "Not you."

"Why not?" Angela shot back. "The VSRS is mine, and I am a doctor, it makes sense."

"Something being yours is not a good argument, and no it doesn't," Gabriel countered. "Do you have any field experience? Ever been shot at? Mortar explode 10 feet from you?" He turned to the others. "I'm not letting a high-minded doctor blow herself or one of us up because she doesn't have the slightest clue about war."

Jack cut Angela off before the two could start fighting. "Ok, first thing, Gabriel is right. This looks like it has a lot of potential, but you'll be a danger to yourself and others without any training. Second thing, you'll have to go through training before we let you go anywhere near a battlefield."

God he made her blood boil, even if he has a point. "I want to help people," Angela crossed her arms and glared at Gabriel. "That is why I am here. I will do what is necessary, and would like to start immediately."

"Once this gets U.N. approval and you pass field training, we'll be happy to have you, doctor," Ana turned to leave. "Now please excuse me, Fareeha is expected back any time."

"Oh goody, I'll come say hello," Lena followed Ana out of the stadium.

Winston broke the tense silence that followed their exit. "Angela, I'd like to run some tests on the suit and staff, if you wouldn't mind changing."

"Alright," she turned to Jack. "I would like to get started on this field training, Jack, if you could please let me know how that process can start."

"Absolutely," Jack replied. "I'll send over the overview and get times scheduled."

Angela followed Winston out the door, annoyed that Gabriel was right, and annoyed that another obstacle was between her and helping people. " _I'll do anything to save lives,"_ she promised herself.


	11. Bang Bang

"Again."

Sweaty palms curled around the Caduceus Staff. Avoid one, keep tethered to the second, don't get shot.

Athena's voice came to life, "Initiating combat simulation in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1."

What was once darkness burst into being; a battlefield materialized before her eyes, dust and debris swirled around crumbling buildings. The crack of gunfire lit up her senses. A soldier to her left cried out as he was shot, blood splattering the dirt. Angela didn't flinch, he'd already died 12 times.

"Taking fire!" Jack crackled in her ear. "I repeat, taking fire. Requesting backup."

She'd died in less than a minute the first three times because she panicked, couldn't figure out how to use her directional device and got lost. The other nine times Angela was hunted down before she got to Jack, or during their escape. Her mission was to locate Jack, treat any wounds he may have sustained, and then reach the extraction point without being killed, all while taking fire from simulated and real foes.

Scrambling down what was once a building, Angela darted into an open door as explosions rocked the ground, almost throwing her down. "Repeat. Requesting assistance. Sustaining heavy causalities. Repeat. Requesting assistance."

"Fuck," she hissed, exiting the other side of the building and sprinting down the street. "Is he accelerating the damn simulation?" VSRS alerts blared and Angela threw herself to the ground. A rocket soared into a building 100 feet down, turning chunks of concrete into deadly missiles. Basketball-sized concrete torpedoes were going to be the least of her concerns, he was about to make an appearance; she needed to get the hell out of dodge.

She was less than 600 feet from him, and six buildings and two streets needed to be navigated. Angela could go one of two routes: through the alleys, which would cut her time in half but increase her chances of being killed, or to the end of the street and around. She'd tried navigating the buildings once, they'd collapsed on her. Simulation over.

" _There's not enough time to go around_ ," she realized. He'd be dead by the time she got there if she took the street. Her eyes darted to every shadow, ears listening for anything suspicious as she made her way down the alley. Crunching gravel had her ducking behind a dumpster. Footsteps and gunshots closed in, and then passed by, chasing down some unseen enemy.

Angela took her chance and sprinted out of the alley, making visual contact with a retreating Jack. She locked on and soared over to him, "Right beside you. Are you injured?"

"Good to see you, doctor." Jack gestured at his left leg. "Through and through shot, left thigh."

The Caduceus staff's healing beam enveloped him as they continued to back up. "You're good," Angela nodded. "Ready to head to extraction point."

"Let's get the hell out of here, move out." Jack ducked around a corner, the pair making their way one klick south to the extraction point she had yet to reach.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins. He wasn't anywhere to be found, and that was incredibly unnerving. "Has he made contact?" Jack asked.

"Not yet," Angela glanced over her shoulder. He had a way of appearing from the shadows.

"Get down!" Jack barked, sending off a volley from his heavy pulse rifle. Angela lurched backward and knelt down, engaging the secondary support beam. A growing tension coiled in her stomach. She felt like she was being stalked. " _Where the hell is he?_ "

"We need to make it across this street," Jack barked, motioning at a door about 30 feet away. "I've laid down suppressing fire," he paused. "Something seems off. We're going to head across. I want you to stay as close to my side as you can, got it?"

Angela nodded. He launched Helix Rockets down the street and they took off, scrambling across the seemingly endless distance to the door. Just as they reached the door, an explosion launched Angela off her feet, sending her crashing to the ground a few feet away. Dust swirled around her as she struggled to get up, turning the street into a vortex of choking brown oppression. "Jack!" she called out.

She stumbled forward in the direction she thought the door was; her calls to Jack went unanswered and her directional system had been damaged in the explosion. Angela was on her own. She felt her way down the wall until it gave way to an entrance. Running inside, Angela bent over in a coughing fit, lungs fighting to expel what the explosion had forced into them.

Angela jerked up, her whole being screaming danger. Terror swept over her being, paralyzing nerves and turning off any sense of rationale. A cold piece of metal kissed the back of her head, sealing her fate. "Bang," Gabriel whispered in her ear.

"Simulation over, mission failure," Athena announced. Angela pulled off the VR headset, tempted to throw it at Gabriel's head. "You did better," Gabriel said while inspecting his unloaded shotguns. "Unfortunately, if you freeze like that, you're dead. I mean, you were dead anyway, but Jack was only a few seconds away. A punch, kick, hell, anything except what you did would have been better."

Jack tapped his ear. "And you forgot to stay in contact with me. I didn't know where you were or how far away you were from me for the first half of the simulation. Constant contact is a must if we're going to keep each other alive."

He must have sensed her frustration level, because Jack walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. "You are doing better, Angela. We didn't become soldiers over night, this takes time."

"Every time I fail means more people are dying," she pushed his hand off. "I don't have years to get this right. Let's go again."

"Heh," Gabriel chuckled and strapped his VR headset back on. "I could do this all day."

* * *

Angela wondered if she was forgetting how to be a doctor. Her days were consumed by Jack's rigorous training schedule, and now she had to give physicals. She giggled at the thought, granted, she hadn't been practicing in the last couple months due to research and then preparing for field deployment, but months of neglect didn't trump years at the operating table.

She washed her hands and grabbed a clipboard, perusing the list of names. Physicals were pretty mundane, not that she minded. It was a much-needed break from training. Angela was making progress, just not as fast as she'd like. It would be a nice change of pace to do something - even as simple as a physical - that she was already good at. A knock pulled her out of her thoughts, a nurse's voice announcing her first patient had arrived. Angela opened the door, "Good morning, Lena."

"Merci, une doctoresse."

"Have a good day, Amelie," Angela pulled the cover off the exam table and threw it in the trash as the door clicked behind her. She relished the mundane simplicity the day had gifted her.

A knock on the door let her know her next appointment had arrived. "Come in," she called out, turning around to wash her hands.

"Hello, Dr. Ziegler," Gabriel's voice amplified the sound of the exam room door closing. A chill colder than the water swept over her, " _Oh scheisse!_ " she grabbed a paper towel to dry her hands. " _How'd I forget about him?_ "

Angela turned around and gave the most sincere smile she could convince her muscles to muster. "Good afternoon, Mr. Reyes. If you would please take a seat, we'll get started."

She felt like a gazelle being stalked by a lion; if she moved too fast, he might just eat her alive. His presence filled the room, threatening to suck her in like a black hole.

Angela stepped up to the table, assessing the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing. "I will need to take your blood pressure and draw blood, could you please roll the sleeves up?" Gabriel spent a moment trying to pull a sleeve up before it became apparent fabric and muscle were not cooperating. "Hold on," he said, grabbing the back of the shirt and pulling it over his head.

"Oh, that's not nec-" She didn't know why she bothered, he wasn't going to listen to her. The primal side of Angela's mind stormed her senses, greedily appreciating the male form now in front of her. Tattoos snaked over skin tanned by sun and ethnicity. Tattoos had always fascinated Angela. She could never be ballsy enough to get one of her own, instead choosing to appreciate (most of the time) artwork on a human canvas. Of course, some of it was the God-awful product of drunken 2 a.m. mistakes, but from what she could tell, his were not. Gabriel studied her as she placed the stethoscope on his chest. Warm muscle kissed her cold hand, a rhythmic heartbeat thumping under her fingers. "Take a deep breath and then exhale slowly, please."

His heart sounded healthy, so did his lungs. He smelled faintly of a woody cologne, she noted. "Your chart says you have problems sleeping?" Angela asked, moving the stethoscope around to his back. "Take another deep breath."

He let the breath out and shrugged. "Happened after the Soldier Enhancement Program. I'm used to it, and whiskey helps."

Angela frowned and set the stethoscope down. "Drinking to go to sleep is not healthy, I can have you try out some sleep aids if you would like?"

"Getting shot at isn't healthy either, and I'm not dead yet. I don't like taking pills, it did bad things things to my father."

She was surprised by his frankness, and jotted a note down in his file. "That's good to know. Go ahead and lay back."

Gabriel did as he was instructed and soon found Angela leaning over him, hands moving over his neck. He'd be lying if he said it was a bad view. Her hair looked like it was about to threaten rebellion, and he had an urge to reach up and tuck it behind her ear. " _Get a hold of yourself,_ " he mentally chastised himself. " _You're acting like a horny 15-year-old._ " Her fingers stopped at a jagged scar above his clavicle. "What happened here?" He laughed, absentmindedly tracing a hand over the scar. "I was on the wrong end of a knife. He was on the wrong end of a gun. Hurt like hell, though."

Silence settled over them as she ran through a battery of tests. Angela wouldn't describe it as calm; she was unusually aware of his state of undress. She was having trouble flipping the doctor switch on - the one that put her emotions in a nice little box until she was done sewing someone up or delivering bad news - he made her uncomfortable, and she didn't like it.

Finally, the last thing she needed to do was take his blood and she could get him out of there. "I'm going to take some blood, and then you can go. Do you have any problems with needles?"

"The only one around here who has a problem with needles is Jack," Gabriel snorted. Angela swabbed his forearm, "You may feel a pinch," she said, sliding the needle into his skin. She pulled the needle out, applied a Band-Aid and scribbled his name on the vial. "I'll have test results back most likely in a week."

Gabriel stood up and Angela handed him his shirt. She watched him put it back on, searching his movements for some clue to her emotions. They'd settled somewhere between intrigue and doubt: She found herself wishing she had more tests to run.

"Thanks, doc," Gabriel adjusted his shirt. "Do I get a lollipop?"

"Those are reserved for the good patients." Angela braced for the reprimand that never came. Gabriel stared at her for a moment before a grin lifted his lips. "I expect to see improvement in training tomorrow, Dr. Ziegler." The door shut and she released a breath she didn't know she was holding. " _What in the world was that?_ "

Angela didn't have time to process what had happened before the nurse announced another person was there. She opened the door to Jack, and Gabriel's words came rushing back. "So," she motioned him inside. "I hear you're afraid of needles."


	12. Nostradamus

"She needs a call name," Gerard pointed out. Crisp morning air nipped at their earlobes, a constant reminder that it was far too early to be awake. Overwatch members were scattered throughout the hangar doing various gear checks and final preparations.

"How about Angel of Death, because she's going to get us all killed?"

"Shut the fuck up, Gabriel." Jack started the process of breaking down and reassembling his gun, "Don't go psyching her out on her first mission."

"Someone's sure protective," Gabriel teased. He waggled his eyebrows at Jack. "Planning on being her Superman? Gerard, I can picture it now. An Omnic machine gun sweeps across the battlefield, going right for her! You sprint over and grab her, pulling her down just in time. Next thing you know, you're lying on top of her and-"

A hard punch had Gabriel and Gerard howling with laughter. "Jeez Jack, no need to get feisty," he dodged away as Jack stalked after him. "You two sure do go on a lot of morning runs together, is all I'm saying."

Jack loved Gabriel like a brother, but he'd be damned if he didn't protect his pride. He flipped Gabriel the bird and grabbed his gun, "Don't be jealous because of my southern charm. I'm sure there's some corn back in Indiana that needs harvesting, we're always looking for cheap labor."

"That's enough," Ana and Amelie walked up to them. "We need to get going, and I'm not letting children on my helicopter," Ana snapped.

"You sure about that?" Jack pointed behind Ana to a bouncing Fareeha.

"Oh," Ana turned around and sighed. "Fareeha, my darling, what are you doing? You know I don't like you being out here."

Fareeha frowned, "I wanted to say goodbye to everyone. You're all leaving me alone."

It hurt Ana more than she could express to leave her daughter behind. It was their greatest source of tension, and Ana already knew they didn't spend enough time simply being mother and daughter. Thankfully, Fareeha was well-behaved with Overwatch staff, despite the occasional tantrum, so they never minded looking after her.

"Little ameera, you should listen to your mother." Fareeha squealed as Reinhardt scooped her up, giving her a stern look. "You should be in bed. Ze longer you keep your mother here, ze longer it vill take for her to come back."

Reinhardt had a way of defeating Fareeha. The young girl couldn't resist the massive man's infectious charm and flopped back in his arms, letting out a decidedly unladylike groan. "I can't wait until I'm a grown-up," she pouted. Ana brushed her hair back and planted a kiss on the young girl's forehead. "I will see you tonight, ebnaty al jameelah. Now, please go back to bed." Reinhardt set her down and she disappeared as quick as she'd come.

Angela tried to get comfortable as the Chinook chattered her bones. She'd never been on one before, and wasn't particularly thrilled. Reinhardt must have sensed her anxiety, because he sat next to her with a reassuring smile. Fear and excitement battled in her nerves; it seemed like only yesterday Jack had walked into her office, and now she was finally heading to the battlefield to save lives.

Gabriel tapped his ear and everyone turned their mics on. "This should be a pretty straightforward extraction," he began. "We've got some U.N. peacekeepers pinned down by Omnics. They aren't advancing, and the soldiers are in a safe enough position that we should be able to get in and out. Gerard, Amelie, I want you on suppressing fire. Keep those Omnics occupied. Ana, take care of those two. Reinhardt, you're our shield. Jack and I will cover the peacekeepers while the doctor treats any wounded," Gabriel paused and turned to Angela, index finger tapping a rhythm on his shotgun. "Dr. Ziegler has chosen not to carry a weapon, so I want an eye on her at all times."

Angela, and everyone else, knew what he was really saying: liability.

They'd argued for days after she passed the final field course over her carrying a weapon. She was adamantly opposed - killing people was not something she would ever do, so she would not carry a gun. Pretty much everyone else was on Gabriel's side. She couldn't defend herself, which meant others had to split their concentration between her safety and their mission. Angela didn't know what to do. On one hand, she was putting lives in danger by not carrying a weapon, on the other, she would put lives in danger with a weapon.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Dr. Angela Ziegler took the Hippocratic Oath; it didn't stop applying because she wasn't in a hospital.

The Chinook's door opened and the pilot gave them the go-ahead to exit. Gerard and Amelie were the first ones out, they couldn't get near the peacekeepers until the couple distracted the Omnics. Ana followed close behind. The rest of the team took cover behind a building. The scream of a Gatling gun thundered in the direction of the trapped soldiers until it was abruptly cut off by a single boom.

"They're in position," Gabriel signaled. "Reinhardt, let's move."

"Shield engaged!" Reinhardt stepped around the building and activated his Barrier Field. The team slowly made its way across the rubble toward a partially-collapsed building. Volleys of gunfire threatened to deafen her. Once they were close enough, Angela ducked into the crumbling doorway behind Jack: They were in a race against time to find the peacekeepers.

Angela could feel her breathing increasing, and willed herself to calm down. Flickering lights cast foes on walls and down hallways; she started when damaged electrical wiring showered sparks across the floor. "Schematics show the building is rectangular with a center room," Gabriel shone his light at each hallway. "Reinhardt and I will take left. Keep in contact. Move out."

She followed Jack into the darkness, careful to step over twisted metal and broken wires. "The only thing we'll have to worry about down here is building stability," Jack explained as they rounded a corner. "Try to walk where I walk." Shattered glass crunched under their feet as Jack called out every couple minutes.

"We don't know where they are?"

"No, or what condition they're in. The building took heavy damage from the Omnics."

They had just passed by a partially-collapsed door when Angela stopped. "Jack, did you hear that?"

"No, did you hear something?"

Angela backtracked to the door and knelt down. "Hello? Is someone in there?"

A few seconds of silence was broken by a strained groan. "Please help," a feeble voice called out. "Please, we are injured and can't move."

Jack radioed in to Gabriel and Reinhart. "We've located the peacekeepers. They're injured and the door is collapsed. Sending our location."

"Roger," Reinhardt said. "Making our way now."

Angela was already through the door before Jack noticed. Scrambling, he squeezed through what was left of the door frame. "Angela! Stop! We don't know if it's safe."

The room was a mess: portions of the ceiling had caved in, rubble and glass coated the floor and support beams bowed under the weight of collapsed concrete.

"Angela," he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her backward. "You can't run off, what did I say?"

"But they're in here somewhere!" Angela tugged on her arm, frustration growing. "I need to get to them."

His eyes hardened and she knew she'd gone too far. "That was an order, doctor." He stepped past her and she fell in line behind him. "This is Overwatch, if you can hear us, make some kind of noise." A wheezing cry greeted them from a far corner that looked like it had taken the worst of the collapse. "Careful," Jack stepped over a cable sparking in a puddle.

It took a few minutes of searching until they found the peacekeepers huddled in a corner. "Oh, thank God," one of them said. "We thought we were going to die."

Angela knelt next to them and began triage, offering the biggest smile she could muster. "My name is Dr. Angela Ziegler, you're safe now." Jack surveyed the wreckage as she worked and touched base with the rest of the team. Gerard had some minor wounds from a shrapnel explosion, they'd had to back off from the Omnics but were still doing their best to keep the machines' attention. Most of the group had minor wounds Angela easily fixed with her staff. "They're good enough to travel, Jack, we can get them out of here."

"Thank you so much," a woman coughed.

They helped the soldiers up and made it out of the room to where the other two were waiting. They were retracing their steps to the entrance when the building began to shake. "Come in," Amelie's voice said in their ears. "Something distracted the Omnics, maybe they registered your heat signatures. We're trying to get their attention but they're firing on the building. Get out of there!"

"Move it!" Gabriel barked. The building groaned under the onslaught of bullets. If it weren't for the danger of a building falling on their heads, Angela would have laughed at the sight of Reinhardt scooping up the two soldiers who were having trouble keeping up. A boom shook the room, pushing them off balance and sending metal and stone falling from the ceiling.

"Angela, watch out!" A slab of ceiling had worked its way free and careened to the floor. Jack jumped toward Angela and threw her to the ground as hundreds of pounds of concrete crashed into the spot where she was just standing. Her head had cracked against the floor; dazed, she registered Jack inches from her face. She wasn't sure if she had a concussion, but Gabriel was laughing for some reason and Jack looked like he was ... blushing? He helped her up and she dusted herself off and marched past Gabriel. "Is there something funny about not being crushed to death?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," he replied. "I'm God damn Nostradamus over here."

"Seriously Gabriel? Fuck off," Jack growled.

Gabriel had what Angela could only describe as a shit-eating grin on his face. " _Whatever_ ," she thought. "Let's just get out of here, please?"

The three met up with Reinhardt and the peacekeepers at the exit. Gerard and Amelie had managed to get the Omnics' attention again, making their path back to the extraction point quick and easy. They were up in the air and headed home in no time. The safest way to eliminate the Omnics was to have Lena do a fly-over, which, from the sound of her voice, she was more than happy to do.

Ana and Angela sat with the peacekeepers in the back to check vitals and keep them company. A contingent from the U.N. would be waiting at Overwatch when they arrived to collect the soldiers.

Jack caught up with Angela after they had finished debriefing the appropriate channels on what had happened. "You did well today. Most people aren't nearly so excited to see us."

She laughed and gave herself some time to appreciate his words. "Thank you. That," she walked through to doors of Overwatch. "Is why I am here. To save people. Today I finally feel like I've done that."

"Jack," she stopped her superior – and friend – outside the medical ward. "I want you to know I'm glad you came to my hospital that day." Jack searched her face, and seeing only honesty, smiled. "We picked you for a reason, Angela, because we believed you could bring something to Overwatch no one else could. You have. Now, we just need to get you a little better at listening to orders," he teased.

Gabriel found himself stopped at the entrance to Overwatch watching the interaction from a distance. Something sour sat in his chest when Jack touched her. He didn't even like her, and yet, something about seeing the pair touching and laughing made him want to shoot something. "Fuck this," he mumbled. He was probably just horny. "I need a shower and a drink."

Angela laughed and playfully punched Jack's shoulder. "I need to get out of this suit and take a shower, thanks again for saving me earlier." They parted ways and Angela joyfully spent the next hour and a half neck-deep in her bathtub before going to bed. Pillows and sheets were like heaven on her body; Angela wasted no time burrowing into her covers and letting sleep wash over her.

Rough hands tugged at Angela's consciousness. They begged her to wake up as they slid all over her body, tracing paths from her throat to her toes. Hot breath kissed her neck, promising things her body understood before her mind did. Sleepy eyes fell on sculpted muscle, eliciting a moan she couldn't stop from crawling out of her. Her hands snaked around his back, begging for what she could feel inside her thighs. "Buenos días," his voice, still thick with sleep, whispered.

The buzzing of her alarm fought to pull Angela away from the tension coiling between her hips. Her hand snuck out of the covers to turn the persistent alarm off.

Her eyes shot open. "Was zum Teufel!" she gasped. "Oh no no," Angela frantically rubbed her eyes, nervously looking around as if he was actually in her bedroom. "That did not just happen." Reassuring herself did nothing for the hungry demands of her very awake body. Angela stumbled into the bathroom and threw on the water, willing the shock of cold to erase Gabriel from her head.


	13. Hold Up Now

Angela felt dirty.

Well, maybe not quite dirty. Ashamed? That might be a better word for it, or sheepish.

She'd been avoiding Gabriel like the plague ever since her mind had decided to play a nasty trick on her. She was scared he knew (which, logically, she knew was ridiculous, it was a dream). Thankfully, he'd been gone on a slew of missions, so she'd barely seen him in the past couple weeks. It stuck with her, though, and it had set up shop in the back of her mind, frequently storming to the front of her attention for - from what she had gathered - no other reason than to remind her that it had been awhile since she had, well, been with anyone. Angela had gone through the logic of dirty dreams: Gabriel could simply be the manifestation her mind picked to express sexual frustration. It could as easily have been Jack, or a past lover, or anyone else.

Somehow that only reassured her so much.

Zipping up her hoodie, Angela rubbed her hands together while waiting for Jack. Their ritual 7 a.m. run gave her something to look forward to in the morning. She embraced their growing closeness; Jack was becoming a dear friend fast, even if he could be hard on her during missions. It made sense, really. He couldn't afford to spare her feelings or deal with uncertainties in a combat situation.

"Good morning," Jack yawned and stretched his hands behind his back. "Ready?"

"Let's do it."

* * *

Gabriel counted three hits: a graze on his left shoulder, one to the bicep and another to the right calf.

The men at his feet were not as lucky.

His team was slowly pushing back to the extraction point. The mission had been a pretty straightforward raid on a known Deadlock hideout. He hadn't anticipated quite as much resistance as they got. From what he could tell, either there was more of the gang there than they had anticipated, or someone was a very good shot.

They'd culled enough members to make a point and it was time to head home. Retracing their steps through bullet-riddled doors, Gabriel called in their ride and surveyed the facility. Explosives were rigged throughout the building, no point cleaning house just to let them reclaim the place when he left. He winced when he accidentally leaned too much on his right foot; it wasn't the first time he had been shot, but it still stung like hell.

"Come in, this is extraction VTOL, the LZ has too much debris, I'm setting down about 200 feet north of your position."

"Fuck," he snapped. They always did this shit, finicky bastards. "Alright, boys, let's move. You heard the man."

They'd secured this landing zone, and a nervous pilot picking another extraction point was a red flag for something to go wrong. They made their way down a rocky path into a narrow corridor. "File up," he ordered, taking up the rear of the procession.

" _Something's wrong_ ," he realized. He could feel it in his bones: Someone was following them.

There was no relief when the plane came into view. He scanned for every potential hiding spot as his men piled into the bird.

A crack split the air and one of his men slumped over like a sack of sand. "Get in the God damn bird, now, LZ is hot!" Gabriel barked orders and trained his gun for the unseen enemy. He ducked as another bullet ripped through the air and into the side of the plane. He backed up until his knees hit the bird. It groaned as its engines came to life, as if protesting the eternal fight against gravity.

"Hold up now."

Gabriel almost had the door shut when he was thrown backwards onto the floor of the plane. His whole body erupted into an inferno of pain before darkness swallowed his mind.

* * *

Angela scribbled down some notes on their latest nanobiology tests and took a long drink of her tea. Progress was being made, although they had yet to nail down the side effects of beam exposure. That, and Torbjorn had been pestering her about a project involving a sniper rifle, something she wasn't overly thrilled to pursue.

She started when Simon burst through the door holding up his pager. "Dr. Ziegler, your pager, we need you at Landing Pad Two now."

"Simon, are you ok?" She hadn't even noticed her buzzing pager. He frantically motioned at the door, "We don't have time, there's wounded landing in five minutes."

They burst out of the door to the landing pads as the VTOL made its final descent. "Do we have any information on injuries?" Angela screamed over the roar of the engines.

"No, just that there's at least one in critical condition. Some mission overseas."

Angela and Simon were at the doors as soon as the plane touched down. They lurched open to reveal a chaotic scene; blood covered the floor around one body, another had a red-stained sheet over it. "Simon, the bed, now," a rush of adrenaline carried Angela into the plane and over to the bloodied mess of a person. " _Oh my God_ ," her eyes widened in shock at Gabriel's unconscious face.

He was not in good shape, that she could tell immediately. Massive blood loss, multiple gun wounds and labored breathing told her he did not have a lot of time. They hauled him onto the waiting gurney where she left Simon to tend to the rest of the soldiers.

Angela barely processed a horrified Jack and Lena waiting at the elevator doors. "Out of our way!" she shouted as they rushed into the medical ward. She called out directions to the waiting nurses in the trauma center to cut away his clothes as she scrubbed up and prepared for surgery.

A nurse pointed to multiple entry wounds on a chest caked with blood. "I'm counting at least eight gunshot wounds and a graze, doctor. It looks like six to the chest, right calf, and left shoulder."

Angela made slow and steady progress as hours ticked away. Gabriel flat lined twice early on; lucky for him he had one of the best surgeons in the world watching over him. She was honestly impressed he was still alive, and that was thanks to the bullet-proof vest he had been wearing and whatever the Soldier Enhancement Program had done to him.

A tin to her left was filled with bloody bullets that took four hours to remove. "Ok," she took a step back to survey her handiwork. Aside from the weave of stitches and bandages over most of his upper body, Gabriel was in a much better state. She didn't like the look of him intubated, he seemed far too fragile. "Prep him for postop. I want him monitored around the clock tonight. I will have my pager on me, if anything happens I want to be notified."

Angela took a few minutes to splash water on her face and tidy up before leaving the operating theater. The rush was beginning to ebb; her body, as if realizing the danger had past, began its task of letting her know every ache and pain. She flexed stiff fingers over a crooked neck, a headache started climbing through her temples.

Jack stood up from the couch he had occupied for the last few hours when Angela walked out of the surgery ward doors. He hesitated, unsure if he should approach the woman who had so deftly cowed him earlier. "How is he?"

"Stable," her tone was clipped, strained. She just got out of an hours-long surgery, he reminded himself, get her some water. He returned a minute later with an offering of crisp water in a plastic cup. "Thank you," she sank into a chair next to him and downed the cup. "He's still intubated as a precaution, he took a lot of trauma to his chest." Angela held up eight fingers to Jack. "Eight. He was shot eight times, and he didn't die. What the hell did that program do to you?"

Jack could only offer her a shrug, "I'm not entirely sure. It certainly did make us more resilient. How are you doing?"

"Tired. Unless there's something else you need, I'm going to go shower."

He nodded and held the door for her to leave.

Angela settled into the chair on her porch with a cup of tea and a book. She wouldn't get much sleep tonight thanks to the pager in her pocket. She'd turned away multiple people looking for updates, finally being forced to turn off her phone and direct anyone who took the time to come to her door to Jack. It made sense even if it was annoying; some of these people had known Gabriel for years, and to see a friend covered in blood would be jarring, to say the least.

Buzzing roused her from her unintended sleep. Angela threw off the blanket and made her way downstairs to see what was going on.

A panicked nurse pointed her in the direction of the commotion. "Doctor, we don't know how, but he's awake through the medication. It should have kept an elephant asleep, he's being combative, trying to take out his intubation tube."

" _You're going to make everything difficult, aren't you?_ " she thought.

The scene in his room was mayhem. A nurse had managed to strap one of his arms to the bed, the other lashed out at anyone who came to close to him while simultaneously trying to pull the tube out of his throat.

"Would someone please get me a sedative?" Angela cautiously approached the bed. "Mr. Reyes, it's Dr. Ziegler, can you hear me?"

* * *

He gurgled and wheezed, fighting against the pain in his throat. Everything was fuzzy, like someone had thrown a thick fog over his mind. Claustrophobia pressed down on him from all sides. The only thing that was clear was the sharp pain in his throat and searing ache across his body. His eyes opened just enough to ward off whoever was trying to pin his damn arms down.

A familiar voice caught his attention, focusing his fractured mind.

"Mr. Reyes, you are intubated in a hospital room in Overwatch," the doctor's voice swept through his mind like a cool breeze momentarily suppressing the consuming pain. "You sustained some pretty serious injuries. Again, this is Dr. Angela Ziegler. I'm going to come over to the bed because I need you to stop pulling at that tube. Is that ok?"

The pain was maddening, the tube grated at his throat like hot sand. His eyes glued to her face as she approached the bed. A feral part of him screamed to fight her off, but was silenced when her cool hand touched his. She laid his hand down next to his side, being as gentle as she could with the wounded soldier. "We're getting you some medicine to help with the pain," her voiced danced over his ears like a sweet melody. "You'll feel better in a few moments."

That melody was torn away when she touched the tub invading his throat. Pain crashed over him like a tsunami and he reflexively latched on to her arm and twisted it down.

"Mr. Reyes please," she gasped. His vice-grip was crushing her arm. "Mr. Reyes you need to let go. Please let go of my arm."

"Someone get me that medicine now," she yelled. A nurse ran into the room and twisted the vial into his IV.

His grip faltered as the medicine worked to dull his senses and take away his pain. She pried her arm from his fingers and the nurse strapped his hand down. Gabriel didn't even care, the bliss of oblivion was inviting him in and he happily let it sweep him away.

"Dr. Ziegler are you alright?"

Angela rubbed the already-forming bruise. "Yes I'm fine, thank you. I want him on a higher dose of sedatives until we can take the tube out. I don't need him causing damage to people or equipment."

She took a moment to observe Gabriel. The strength in his hand - even damaged by trauma and filled with drugs - had been frightening. There was no reason to take it personally, intubation was painful. " _He shouldn't have even been awake this soon after surgery_ ," she thought. " _I'll need to have someone send me diagnostics on the Soldier Enhancement Program_."

"I'm going to stay here for awhile, I think," she said. Angela took a seat in the chair next to his bed and busied herself looking through his charts. A nurse was kind enough to bring her some food and a blanket.

* * *

Gabriel forced eyelids thick with sleep to open. He sluggishly considered his surroundings and noted with some mirth that his arms were restrained. The laugh died in his throat, he was intubated?

He willed himself to relax and gather his thoughts. Obviously he'd been wounded. He craned his neck down to the gauze and bandaging covering his chest. " _Shit_ ," he mentally cursed. " _What the fuck_."

That's when he noticed the prone figure next to him. Gabriel turned his head as gingerly as he could - any movement tugged at his throat - to look at the mess of blonde hair asleep under a blanket. " _Is that ...? What is she doing here?_ "

His brain struggled to remember what had happened. And failed. Instead, it decided to focus on how pretty she looked asleep. He let himself stare at her for a few minutes, it was pretty much the only thing he could do. He tried to stem the itch in his throat to no avail. Pain scratched its way up his throat as he was racked by coughs that forced his trachea to grate against the tube.

Angela woke up to Gabriel's coughing. He watched her get up and walk over to the bed to check his vitals.

She turned her attention to him and asked, "Mr. Reyes, do you know where you are?"

He nodded. "Have you calmed down?" He wasn't sure what she meant, but nodded anyway.

"Good. Your vitals seem stable, I'm going to go ahead and remove that tube, ok? You will feel some pain."

She gave him little warning when she pulled the tube out of his throat. He grunted at the pain and coughed all over again. It took him a few minutes before the coughing subsided enough for him to drink the water she offered.

He listened as Angela changed out drips and talked him through his litany of injuries. An ugly purple and black bruise laced around her forearm caught his attention. It looked like a hand.

"What happened to your arm?" His voice was hoarse and raw.

She offered him a faint smile, "You decided to wake up a few hours after your surgery; you weren't very happy."

" _That explains the restraints,_ " he thought. Before he had a chance to say anything, a nurse came in and swapped something out that Angela explained was a sedative. The last thing he saw was her face before the drugs pulled him under.


	14. That Cheshire Smile

***Sorry for the delay! My work keeps me pretty busy (elections) and the debate messed up my schedule. Hope you enjoy, I've wanted to write this chapter since like ... 10 chapters ago ;)***

* * *

"I'm done sitting around. I've been back in the field from shit worse than this."

"The answer is no."

"Why the fuck not?"

"No."

"You're telling me you can fix gunshot wounds instantaneously in the middle of a firefight, but you won't do it after the fact?"

"This discussion is over."

Brown and blue battled until Gabriel slammed a fist into the table and walked (limped) out of the medical ward. Angela turned to Simon, "I do not want him in here anymore, please have me paged if he tries to come back for anything other than actual medical needs."

Simon scurried away while Angela willed herself not to throw a beaker across the room. If she had her way she'd strap him back down and sedate him until he was cleared for operations. She'd had a lot of stubborn patients over the years, but he was doing a good job of fighting for first place. Gabriel was healing remarkable quickly as-is, she did not want to test nanobiology on him without having an idea of what the consequences would be of attempting to treat lasting injuries as opposed to fresh ones. She wanted him resting for another week, at that point stitches could come out and she'd clear him for combat operations.

At least missions were taking her away from Overwatch headquarters. Angela was getting a lot more comfortable in the field, something she attributed to how helpful Jack was being. The suit had become like a second skin, the staff an extension of her arms.

She let Simon know she was going and left the medical ward to suit up. A series of explosions had shaken the Spanish city of Barcelona. They would be heading out shortly to assist in search and rescue and quell any violence.

"Hold the door!" Angela shouted. Ana stuck her hand out just as the elevator was about to close and Angela hopped on board. "Thanks," she said hi to Reinhardt and Winston. "You guys ready?"

"People need us," Ana replied. "It's a high-casualty scenario. Thousands are trapped by debris, and the Red Cross, U.N. and others can't reach them because of the fighting."

" _I'll enjoy the quiet while it lasts_ ," she thought. It would be chaos when they arrived.

They made their way out of the elevator and into the docking bay. VTOLs had been leaving for the last 30 minutes with various groups of personnel, making for a crowded and busy hangar.

The group split off until Angela was by herself. She took a moment to survey to efficiency before her; a finger traced the triggers on the Caduceus staff. " _I'll be busy soon eno-_ ,"

"Looks like I found the loveliest thing about this mission," Jack slung his rifle over his shoulder and came to stand next to her.

"If I didn't know you, I'd half think you were flirting, Jack."

"Maybe you don't know me," he got the reaction he wanted when she giggled and shoved his shoulder. "You do a good job of calming my nerves, you know," she said before growing quiet. "Try and save some of that charm for the people trapped under buildings."

"Heh," he stared off at a VTOL disappearing in the sky. "I don't know how much good that'll do."

"More than you think," Angela smiled. "A kind voice when you're trapped under thousands of pounds of building can keep someone fighting long enough to be saved."

"I heard Reyes has been stalking your lab," Jack said as they made their way to their VTOL.

Angela shrugged, "I understand it. He's antsy and doesn't get why I won't pump him full of drugs I'm not sure work the same on old wounds." She looked up at Jack, subconsciously seeking reassurance. "I'm not trying to keep him from the field, Jack. But I won't release a patient if I think they aren't ready."

Jack nodded, "I trust your judgement, Angela. He's a hot-blooded Hispanic, he wouldn't know how to be still and quiet if you killed him."

Her laughter was whipped away by the roar of the VTOL's engines. They climbed on board with Ana, Winston, Reinhardt, Gerard and Amelie. Soon enough, Overwatch was on its way.

* * *

Gabriel had the gym radio tuned to Overwatch's communications frequency while he worked out as best he could. He was angry, agitated and impatient. The radio let him follow along with the mission - he couldn't tell if that made him more, or less, annoyed.

He massaged out his thigh and shoulder, taking care not flex his chest too much. The stitches itched like crazy; the doctor said one more week. He was tempted to get a knife and cut them out now. Not that he thought that would actually help anything, but it seemed like his testosterone had gone into overdrive now that he couldn't do anything, and finding some sort of outlet wasn't going well, considering he was a limping cripple.

" _I should go find a hooker_ ," he thought. Gabriel leaned back on the bench and let his mind wander to more devious things. They'd been everywhere in Los Angeles; he had to shoo them off his front yard on a few occasions. He didn't have much use for them then, girlfriends and free sex weren't hard to come by.

Unfortunately, Overwatch was a different beast. The facility itself was heavily guarded and all of the surrounding buildings and businesses were vetted be the United Nations on a regular basis. On top of that, Overwatch higher-ups and the U.N. frowned on such salacious behavior, meaning you were unlikely to find a leggy broad lounging outside the perimeter.

Extracurricular showers helped take the edge off for a little bit.

Gabriel knew why they did it. Ornery men made for a good fighting force: A good way to make men ornery? Remove sex. The next best thing was to channel that sex drive into fighting, and it was pretty damn effective.

He was sure he could find a girl on base if he really wanted to. Maybe someone from engineering? Gabriel snickered as he recalled the time Jack had dabbled in work relations. A disciplinary hearing later and the boy scout started keeping his dick in his pants.

"It looks like extensive damage, I'll need help triaging once we're on the ground." Angela said on the radio.

"Hmm," Gabriel looked over at the radio. She was certainly one of the prettier ones on base - beautiful, really.

He grinned like a horny 15-year-old thinking about when she had given him the physical. He sensed how uncomfortable she was and relished the control he had had over the situation. Gabriel closed his eyes and tried to remember the sensation of her soft hands on his rough skin. Those same hands saved his life and soothed his pain after someone had blown him to hell along Route 66. He planned on going back as soon as he could to settle the score.

"GET DOWN!" Jack's voice barked a string of commands over the communication frequency, dragging Gabriel out of his thoughts.

An explosion screeched through the speakers followed by a quick rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire.

"Come out and face me!" Gabriel made out Reinhardt's roar before another storm of gunfire threatened to blow out the radio's speakers.

"Sniper, be careful!" Angela's voice was laced with panic. Amelie cut her off, "Leave this to me."

Indistinguishable sounds played through the radio for the next few minutes, broken up only by orders from Jack. Gabriel absent-mindedly kneaded his thigh while he listened; Jack would be fine without him there. Angela's voice made him pause as he moved to turn the radio off and head to the showers.

"I need backup," she cried. "I've got wounded with me, we're pinned down."

" _Fuck. She's a sitting duck, why the fuck is she alone_?"

"Roger," Winston said. "Angela, what is your loc-"

Thunderous noise caused the radio to crackle in protest. "They're all over me!" Angela screamed. Gabriel didn't realize he was hunched over the radio, brows furrowed and shoulders tensed. " _Mierda_. _I better not be about to hear this girl get killed. Jack, where the hell are you_?"

He fucking knew this was going to happen, and he couldn't do shit about it. The stupid woman refused to take a damn gun, and that decision was about to get her sorry ass and whoever she was trying to help killed.

Gunfire enveloped the gym. The spattering of people also there looked on nervously, none brave enough to ask Gabriel to turn it off.

"Winston!" Angela's voice sounded strained, scared. "I've been hit," Winston called out. "I repeat, injuries sustained. Targets neutralized but we have casualties."

The next crash came from inside the gym.

"FUCK!" Bodies moved out of his way to the entrance. The radio lay in pieces.

It had taken Gabriel a solid hour to calm down enough to be around other people. He sat in a chair in the docking bay, the whiskey in his hands the only thing keeping him warm in the cavernous structure. He watched each VTOL come in, land and offload. Narrowed brown eyes searched for the bird holding his victims; if they thought the mission was bad, they had no idea what was coming for them.

He had just finished the glass when a VTOL touched down. Jack was the first out of the doors and saw Gabriel immediately. " _Ya, that's right. We're going to have ourselves a nice chat_ ," Gabriel stood up and made his way over.

"Not here, Gabriel," Jack said before he could say anything.

"Really, not here? After I had to listen to that shit show over comms?"

Gerard tried to steer him away by grabbing his bad shoulder. Gabriel hissed and shoved his hand off, "Don't fucking touch me right now."

"Ok fine, but you're not about to have a public conniption," Gerard shot back. "Come on."

He almost saw red when Angela stepped out of the bird with Winston. He held her gaze for a moment before Gerard steered him through the nearest door out of the hangar.

"God dammit!" He shouted. He didn't feel his knuckles sting as his fist hit the wall. "She never should have been cleared for missions without a weapon, Jack."

"They were never in serious danger," Gerard interjected. "She patched Winston up quickly."

"How about that casualty I heard? That fucker feeling alright?"

Gerard didn't say anything.

"You're right," Jack sighed. "Winston will be fine, point taken. An injured civilian did die before Angela could get to him. I'll let her know she's benched until she agrees to pass a firearm course and carry a gun."

"And," he gestured at the dent in the wall. "Try to leave the building out of it, will ya?"

Gabriel flipped him off and stalked off to find himself a drink.

* * *

Angela attempted not to focus on the weight of the gun in her hands. She closed her non-dominant left eye as Jack had instructed and focused on the front sight.

Jack told her after the mission two weeks before she was, for a lack of a better word, grounded until she agreed to carry a gun. She hardly protested, Winston got hurt because of her, and she knew it.

This was the hard part: Angela had yet to master a smooth trigger pull. She jumped before the gun even went off.

" _Exhale,_ " she chided herself. " _Breath in, breath out, fire._ "

Her finger trembled on the trigger until she finally pulled it, jerking the gun down hard and to the left. Jack made a dissatisfied noise behind her.

"It's not going to bite you, Angela."

"Shut up, I know, ok?"

The cycle repeated itself eight more times before Jack wearily called it a day. "We can pick this back up tomorrow."

Angela could only offer him a weak smile before he left. She could feel his disappointment and hated it. Angela prided herself on picking things up fast; apparently murdering people wasn't her thing.

" _Saving people,_ " she scolded herself. " _This will help me save lives._ "

The weapon storage employee took the gun from her and started sweeping up spent casings.

Angela took it as her cue to leave and practically ran into Lena on the way out.

"Oh! I'm so sorry I didn't see you."

"You're fine love, how's the practice 'goin?"

"Ha," she rubbed the back of her neck. "It's, erhm, going. It seems I was not meant to be the next Annie Oakley."

Lena laughed and patted her arm. "You'll be alright, I'm sure of it! Just takes practice."

They chatted for awhile longer before Angela excused herself back to her room to clean off. GSR, or gunshot residue, as Jack had explained it, had coated her in a thin layer of nasty and her first priority after shooting was always to get it off as quickly as possible.

Steam filled the bathroom. Angela couldn't remember how long she had been in the shower, whenever she was alone her mind wandered back to Winston. Thanks to the Caduceus staff his wounds healed almost immediately, but she couldn't forget the way he leaped in front of the bullets meant for her. She closed her eyes and let the water pitter-pat across her eyelids. " _Winston, I'm so sorry._ "

An hour later Angela snuggled into bed, willing her worries to stay quiet for the rest of the night. She was having trouble sleeping, due to what had happened, no doubt. She would have Simon run some tests tomorrow.

The barrel of the gun whipped around and let off a volley of shots that rained down shattered glass on her. Angela scrambled to position herself before the wounded civilians. She had no other defense except her body.

"I need backup," she desperately called into her radio. Footsteps and gunfire continued their dreadful approach. She looked around for anything she could use as a weapon and snatched up a rock, holding it out like some kind of threatening object.

A militant stepped into view and opened fire. "They're all over me!" she screamed into her radio.

Winston's body materialized before her; he wrapped her in his arms as the bullets ripped into him.

Angela gasped and stumbled out of bed, Winston's grunts of pain echoing in her ears. "Oh," she panted, "Winston's ok. You're ok, it was just a nightmare."

She stared down at trembling hands illuminated by the crack of moonlight from her window. "He never had to get hurt," she whispered. "I should have listened."

Lips set in a hard line, Angela pulled on yogas and a sweatshirt and headed for the shooting range.

Aside from security guards, Overwatch was empty. " _Probably because normal people are sleeping,_ " she held up her clearance badge to the weapons storage and range guard and made her way inside. Angela fumbled her way down the dark hall trying to find a light switch. She rounded a corner into the lobby area and felt a switch under her hand. The lights slowly flickered on, as if she'd woken them up from a slumber.

"You're loud," a raspy voice grumbled.

"Scheisse!" Angela jerked backward, tripping over a trashcan before composing herself.

Gabriel stared at her with heavy eyes from the couch, "What are you doing here, doctor?"

"What are you doing here!" She shot back. He was in nothing but a wife-beater and shorts, and had obviously been sleeping. " _I'm screwed. Of course the crazy man sleeps with all the guns, that's just my luck._ "

He dismissed the question, "It's quiet and cold."

Her mind refused to give her an intelligent lie, all she could come up with was, "I just, um, I was lost. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, I'll be going."

"You're a fucking awful liar," Gabriel yawned and gingerly pushed himself up. The stitches in his chest strained painfully at the movement. "Now, are you going to tell me the real reason why you're down here in," he glanced at the clock, "literally the middle of the night?" He leaned over to grab the half-empty whiskey next to the couch.

Angela felt like she was a little girl again when her mom caught her sneaking into the kitchen for a cookie.

"Uh," his eyes drilled into her. Gabriel took a slow drink and waited for her reply.

"Well, um, I've been having trouble sleeping, I thought I'd come down and practice some since training is going ... slowly." Angela wanted to die. If she had the option between being in an armory with angry Gabriel Reyes and getting hit by a car, she'd take her chances with the car.

Gabriel blinked and processed her words. His anger abated somewhat - the woman was down here at 2 a.m. trying to practice because she got someone shot.

He considered her for a moment and then sat up. "Alright. Come on."

She watched Gabriel disappear behind the weapons counter and come back out with ammo boxes and a handgun. "What are you staring at? You're not shooting alone, I won't let you break a gun, and you'll probably kill yourself."

"I'm sorry, what?" Angela couldn't believe it.

"How was anything I just said confusing?" Gabriel held open the door to the range. "Grab two sets of earplugs."

She stood awkwardly and watched him set up the target and send it out 15 yards. Every move they made echoed in the giant room. He turned and motioned her over, "Load the magazine."

Gabriel stood to the side in the shooting booth to make room for her. He took a sip of whiskey while she worked and quietly watched her progress. His eyes lazily traced her form; sneakers, some tight pants that, he titled his head to get a better angle, showed off a nice ass, and a well-worn old grey sweatshirt. She looked hot.

"Good, put the magazine in the gun and pick it up."

Angela followed along with his instructions and slapped the rounds in and picked up the gun. Adrenaline was already creeping back into her system; this time, she didn't know if it was the gun or the man.

He motioned with his glass of whiskey down range. "Adjust your grip a bit, and not too high on the backstrap or you'll hurt yourself. Nice and snug, ya, there you go. Fire when ready."

Her palms started to sweat as she lifted up the gun: left eye closed, firm grip, focus on the front sight, gentle and smooth trigger compression.

"It's going to be morning by the time you take your first shot," his voice teased her ears. "Come on."

Angela gritted her teeth but still hesitated, the anticipation of the shot overwhelmed her until the gun went off and she jerked back, sending the bullet skidding across the ground and into the backstop of gravel and sand.

"Well shit, doctor, you just murdered poor bystander Bobby Joe and crazy terrorist put three bullets in your belly." His laughter grated at her pride. Who the hell had asked him for help, anyway? She ignored him and got ready to shoot again.

He liked the way her brows knit together and her cheeks flushed when she was annoyed. She was also about to give herself back problems. Gabriel put a hand on her upper back and pushed her forward, "You need to lean in more or you'll hurt yourself." He let his hand linger for a few extra seconds before dropping it by his side.

It was like someone had suddenly shrunk the room down to just their booth. She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her back and willed herself to focus on the cold weight of the gun in her hands.

This time she pulled the trigger too fast and startled herself. The bullet veered into the ceiling in a dance of sparks. "Can you ..." her frustration bubbled over until she pointed away from the booth. "Please, can you stand over there or something, it's hard to concentrate when you're breathing whiskey on me."

He laughed at her embarrassment that he was sure didn't have shit to do with the whiskey, but obliged the request and took a few steps out of the booth.

The next five minutes of shooting were some of the most painful he'd ever seen. Jack had said she was bad, Gabriel didn't know bad meant horrific. "You're anticipating the pull too much," he said. "It needs to be a singular motion."

"I know that," she snapped. It was already humiliating that she couldn't figure this out, she didn't need him lauding it over her.

"Fuck," he muttered, maybe this girl learns better with a hands-on approach. Gabriel tossed back the rest of the drink and walked back over to the booth until he was right behind her. "Hold still."

Angela tensed as his arms wrapped around her shoulders to drape over her own. The sensation of his chest pressing into her back quickly enveloped her senses and a blush exploded across her cheeks. He smelled like whiskey and musk. Her voice stuck in her throat as she fought for something to say. What in the world was going on?

"Like this," she shivered when his voice tickled her ear and hot breath kissed her neck. Gabriel's hands held hers and the gun. He placed his finger over hers on the trigger and pulled her hands up to aim at the target.

"One smooth pull, like you've been taught. The gun won't hurt you."

He pulled their fingers back in a fluid motion and a round whizzed downrange into the center of the target. "Oh!" Angela beamed at the small hole, "Mr. Reyes, I hit it!"

Her honest pleasure in the modest accomplishment brought a smile to his lips. This doctor may be stubborn as hell, and that stubbornness may have put people in danger, but she had heart, and he couldn't be mad about that.

"Call me Gabriel, doctor," his voice was gruff and deep. "Let's try that again, shall we?"

Her hair tickled his chin when she nodded.

He felt her body slowly relax into his after each shot. It fit nicely.

Angela realized she wasn't paying attention to the gun anymore, only the expansion of his chest when he breathed and the way his body held hers through the kick of the gun.

They didn't say a word until the magazine was empty, both caught up in the unexpected enjoyment of someone else's touch. A brief hesitation hung over them when the gun clicked, announcing the end of that pleasure.

Gabriel stepped away and walked over to grab the broom. "You can leave the gun on the counter, I'll put everything away."

"That's not necessary," Angela set the gun down and looked for something to help him sweep. "You were kind enough to deal with me waking you up, I can't let you clean everything up."

The shell casings tinkled along the ground with each push of the broom. "I wouldn't call that sleep." He relented after he finished sweeping and showed her how to properly inventory the gun and used ammo. "If you want to come back and shoot on your own, remember to log the amount of bullets you used, it's a bitch trying to figure that out later."

"Gabriel," Angela paused at the door. His first name sounded so personal on her tongue. "Have you ever found anything that works?"

"For what?"

"Your problems with sleeping."

A Cheshire grin took over his face. "Sex and booze."

The clink of the empty whiskey glass filled the air. Gabriel eased back onto the couch and looked over at her, "Goodnight, Angela."


	15. Red Wine And Memories

"Sex and booze."

His voice had been ping-ponging around her head for the last week.

Something ... happened with Gabriel. She felt anxious, like her emotions couldn't decide what they wanted to do, so instead they made her feel like she needed to vomit.

Didn't he hate her? She thought he hated her. He acted like he hated her. Well, at least until that night. The way he held her - something that subconsciously made her bite her lip - had been intimate. And electric. She couldn't remember the last time someone held her like that. When he told her to call him Gabriel he had sounded so, so, Angela couldn't find the right word. It was all decidedly confusing. What the hell changed?

Angela groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. Didn't she hate him too? She didn't know anymore.

What she did know was that this nonsense was distracting her. Work with Torbjorn on the biotic rifle was coming along nicely. Angela only agreed because of his help developing the VSRS and Caduceus staff and his assurances that the rifle would only be used for healing purposes. She had her doubts, but he seemed sincere; if they could get it to work, being able to heal from a safe distance would be miraculous.

Gabriel and a team of soldiers left early that morning on a mission back to the states, she'd been told. Something about a gang. Angela didn't know why Overwatch was dealing with a problem that clearly seemed like America's to solve; Jack mentioned Gabriel had a personal interest in it.

The only reason she didn't throw a fuss was because intel promised her he wouldn't be involved in any direct combat - she had yet to clear him for operations.

"Torbjorn, what made you think of this originally?"

He peaked over the prototype in front of him and tapped it on the barrel. "Imagine the dama-" he cut himself off at her scowl. "Heh, I mean, imagine everything ya could do vith it!"

"It means I could play offense and defense," Ana said from the door. "Excuse me for barging in, may I take a look?"

Ana had a way about her Angela liked. Confident, cool and motherly; the boys respected her, and she envied that. She stepped back to let Ana have a closer look. They were trying to compartmentalize nanobiotics into a capsule form so it could be delivered through darts as well as a stream.

"Amazing," Ana said, more to herself than either of them. "This would be incredible in the field. How close are you to finishing a prototype?"

"Soon," Torbjorn replied. "Angela is close to stabilizing the tech ve need, once she does that you'll be the first to know."

Angela cut in. "Ana, how is Fareeha? I haven't seen her in awhile."

"Oh, she's doing well. Getting more bold by the day," Ana paused and turned to her. "If you aren't doing anything later, how would you like to look after her? Just for the afternoon, I know you've been wanting to."

"And you need a break," Angela smiled. "That sounds lovely, actually. I'm starting to realize there isn't much to do here in what little off time we have than drink."

Torbjorn laughed, "There's nothing wrong vith that!"

* * *

"It's a retrieval, yes."

"Blackwatch does not usually deal in retrievals."

"Yes, sir. I trust Gabriel's judgement."

"Do you believe he would be more effective with command over the special operations division?"

Jack hesitated. He knew what he was being asked.

"Yes."

"Thank you for your candor, Morrison. That is all."

The screen went black, leaving Jack with a pit in his stomach and a head full of conflict. He exited the secure debriefing room and made his way to the cafeteria. It was a quiet day with Gabriel gone and no missions to occupy him. Gerard and Amelie were out, too. She'd started going on more missions with him after Overwatch intercepted internal Talon communications calling for his death. It wasn't that surprisingly, really, Gerard almost exclusively led Overwatch's terrorist division - with a heavy focus on Talon. The U.N. demanded his security be bolstered in light of the threat; Gerard now got the pleasure of being followed everywhere by silent, unpleasant bodyguards.

Jack chuckled to himself as he grabbed a tray. Gerard hated that shit, he was a self-reliant guy, and watching him get followed around was comical.

The loud kind of squeal only capable by prepubescent children echoed across the cafeteria. Jack turned to see Fareeha laughing and earnestly jumping to grab a cookie Angela waved above her head.

"No!" Angela lowered the cookie. "You can have dessert when you're done eating your vegetables." She jerked the cookie out of the young girl's hands.

"But I want it now!"

"That's not how it works! You can't be sneaky with me because mom isn't around. Oh, oh ya," she flicked Fareeha on the forehead. "I know that look, you can't fool me."

Angela pointed at the greens left on her plate. "I'll trade you chewed and swallowed broccoli for," she pretended to take a nibble that elicited a cry of dismay, "a delicious chocolate chip cookie. Deal?"

Fareeha smacked her hands on the table and pouted; eyeing her savior, she darted from the table. "Jack!" She bounded up and ducked behind his leg. "Tell her she's not being fair."

He bit the inside of his cheek to stop from snorting. Jack grabbed her hand and walked her back to the table. With a wink to Angela and the sternest voice he could muster, he set his food down and kneeled next to her. "Miss Amari, is the doctor being mean?"

"Yessss!" Fareeha whined. "I ate my food and she won't give me a cookie."

"Did you eat all your food?" He pointed at the broccoli. "What's that? That looks like food to me."

The little girl blushed and looked down. "I ate it all."

He nudged her chin up with his finger. "Fareeha, look at me." She fidgeted for a minute before caving. Angela shook with silent laughter behind her. "You didn't really eat everything, did you?"

"No."

"By the looks of it, you've only got a couple bites left. Why don't we sit back down and finish eating so you can have your dessert?" He helped her back into her chair and finally turned to Angela. "Afternoon, Ang."

"If only I had the power of a crush, handling her would be so much easier," Angela teased. "How are you doing? I missed you this morning."

"Ya I'm sorry," he shrugged and took a moment to eat. "I had some stuff come up, I forget to let you know. Ana seems pretty jazzed about whatever you and Torbjorn are working on."

Angela frowned. "I'm skeptical. He agreed this would be for medical purposes only, I have my doubts."

"I'd trust him," Jack said. "He's a genius, it's amazing some of the things he can do. Also," he took another bite and pointed his fork at her. "You're shooting has improved significantly. I wouldn't be so surprised if I hadn't tried teaching you myself. What gives?"

Her eyes widened as memories of Gabriel's hands on hers rushed back. "I, um, I've been practicing. I'm not much good if I'm grounded so ..."

" _Please don't ask anything else,_ " she thought.

Aside from a quizzical eyebrow, he let it go. "It's appreciated. We want you back in the field."

"Ah!" Jack leaned over and smacked Fareeha's creeping hand. "It's one more bite, don't make me tell your mom."

Angela watched them with fondness. She'd always been wishy-washy on having children; her life choices didn't leave much time for parenting although she enjoyed looking Ana's little girl.

"Has anyone ever told you you would make a good dad?"

"Ha!" Jack grinned and released the cookie to the young lady's clutches. "I'm an Indiana farm boy at heart, I guess it makes sense. The Army and Overwatch don't leave much time to think about it, unfortunately. I wouldn't mind a little rugrat or two some day." He cast a look her way. "They'd need a mother like you, though. Too many people nowadays have no discipline; kids shouldn't run a household."

"You flatter me, Jack," she couldn't help but smile at the compliment. "Being a doctor doesn't leave much room, either."

"We're really living the life, huh?"

They watched Fareeha contentedly munch on her hard-fought prize, blissfully unaware of the real world. Jack checked his phone, sighed and stood up. "Alright, I need to go. Hey punk, can I get a kiss goodbye?" He scooped her up and let her plant a noisy kiss on his cheek. "You be good for the doctor, ok?" She nodded and he set her down. "Ang, we need to schedule your range tests. Let me know what works for you."

"Jack wait," she wasn't sure why, but Angela didn't feel like being alone. "Are you busy the rest of the night? Ana is taking Fareeha in a couple hours. Drinks?"

"Yes ma'am, first round's on you."

"You know you're too much of a gentleman to let me pay."

He tried to feign offense, "That's two rounds. I'll see you later." Jack gave Fareeha a final wave and took his leave. She was right, there was no way he would let her pay for any drinks.

* * *

"Thank you so much for looking after her, I hope she wasn't too much trouble," Ana ran a hand over Fareeha's hair outside the residence ward.

"She was lovely," Angela assured her. "Have a good rest of your night."

" _Go figure I try to occupy myself by taking care of a kid and I end up drinking anyway,_ " she smiled to herself and made her way to the lobby to have a quick chat with Mrs. Johansson - Jack was often a few minutes late.

The older woman's perfectly plump face beamed as she walked up. "Angela! I was just about to head home. How are you?"

"Well, thanks. Checking in on my favorite receptionist."

Mrs. Johansson blushed and waved a hand dismissively, "Stop it you, I'm hardly the hero. Actually, you just reminded me, a whole bunch of official U.N. stuffies came traipsing through here today. Breezed right past me like they thought they didn't have to sign in!"

Angela let her mind wander while she talked. It had only been about three months since she arrived at this desk with Jack, confused and unsure. It already felt like she had been here a lifetime; Overwatch had a way of enveloping one's life.

"-And then they breezed out like they owned the place! Can you believe it?"

"Don't they technically own it?" Angela asked.

Mrs. Johansson made the sourest face she was capable of mustering. "Money doesn't mean everything. They own the building, the people who work in it are its soul."

"The only times I've ever seen this woman feisty are at night," Jack walked up next to Angela. "Shall we?"

They said goodbye and got a ride to The Bandit. The bar was unusually quiet, so much so that the bartenders looked relieved to see customers walk in. Angela stifled a yawn, ordered a glass of wine and flopped onto a bar stool. "I feel like I go to bed earlier and earlier every night. Am I getting old? What does that feel like?"

"You hush," Jack rolled his eyes. "I'm hardly ancient, and I intend to stay spry until I'm old and gray." He took a long drag of his beer. "You're just feeling Overwatch syndrome. Long days, high stress, potential for being shot, no one ever saying thanks. Welcome to the job."

Angela watched the wine swirl around her glass. "I don't regret it. The hospital was most of those things too, minus being shot. How long do you think it will be before we can finally say the Omnic Crisis is over?"

"Soon, I imagine. Overwatch, Russia, NATO and others have pushed them back enough that it's mostly pockets of resistance. I'd guess a joint strike in the next few months will wrap everything up."

"I'd like to be there for that," Angela said quietly.

Jack put a hand on her shoulder. "Ang, your dossier said your parents were killed in the war?"

She did her best to smile and drank her wine. "We've hardly had a drink and we're talking like a bunch of mopes! I want to talk about something else. What made you want to join the military?"

He leaned back, taking a minute to think about his answer.

"I always felt like I was meant to do something more. I loved the corn and farming and growing up in a quiet little town but it just wasn't enough. The military let me defend my country and have purpose. I'm sure that sounds corny," he took a sip of his beer. "Sometimes things just call to you."

"I know what you mean. Overwatch was sorta like that. You did a good job pitching it." Angela laughed. "I was so flabbergasted when you walked into my office, like, 'What in the world is this guy doing here!'"

His eyes twinkled. "Obviously my charm and persistence paid off."

"Ha-Ha. I'm so charmed right now I'll let you get me another drink."

An hour and a half, four more drinks and a plate of mozzarella sticks later, Jack confessed that he once serenaded a girl he had a crush on outside her window and Angela may or may not have pretended to be a hallucinating homeless man's lover to get him to calm down at the hospital.

Much to Angela's chagrin, Jack wouldn't let her help with the bill. They stood outside waiting for their driver when Jack blurted out, "You didn't have to like ... Kiss him or anything, right?"

Angela doubled over giggling. She composed herself enough to curtsy and let him know, "A lady never tells."

"Ahh," a faint smile danced over Jack's lips. He slung a drunk arm around her shoulders. "This is nice."

" _It is nice_ ," she mentally agreed.

He stepped out of the car back at headquarters and offered her his hand. "M'lady."

"Danke." She hopped out and they made their way to the elevators.

"Now, you don't go telling anyone that story. I don't need Reyes or Gerard singing sweet nothings to me at the gym," Jack said as the doors opened to the residence ward.

"Like I said," Angela turned down the hall to her apartment. "A lady never tells."

"Hmm, I'll hold you to that. Have a good night."

"You too, Jack."

She shut the door and wandered over the couch. Drunk compulsion made her pick up the picture of her with her parents from when she was young. Tears tugged at her eyes as she looked at it; the pain felt like she'd lost them yesterday, bubbling over until the tears spilled over her lashes and down her cheeks. " _I miss you both so much. I hope you're proud of me._ "

Angela snuggled into the couch and let memories of times past sweep her away.


	16. Welcome To The Team

It had been two days since he was handcuffed and roughly escorted off the train.

Some of the passengers tried to explain he saved them; the law didn't much seem to care. At least he'd had time to finish his cigar.

He was irritated they'd taken his gun and hat. His head was cold. And he was bored. And hungry.

"Anyone got somethin' to eat 'round here?"

He drummed a beat on the steel table in front of him. "Hello?"

"They really shoulda set the mood with a reverse mirror or somethin', oh-" the man stood up as a woman in a crisp suit walked through the door. "Mornin' ma'am. Well," he frowned. "I don't rightly know what time it is, and I also can't shake your hand. Pleasure to meet you."

"Sit down."

"Heh, yes ma'am."

He leaned back in his chair. This was certainly a better view.

* * *

Gabriel made his way down the plane stairs to the waiting black car on the tarmac. Arrival had taken longer than usual because, for once, the suspect was already in custody. He would have preferred going to get the son of a bitch who still had his ass on medical suspension himself, but without clearance from the doc that wasn't happening.

Speaking of Angela, he wondered what she was up to. He looked forward to her taking his stitches out when he got back.

A man opened the car door for him. He took the passenger seat and his three operatives took the back. Gabriel brought them with him for security reasons; a lot of people wanted the guy the feds picked up dead - himself included.

The dossier was brief. Somehow, this guy had managed to stay on the fringes well enough that not even America's impressive information network had much on him. According to documents, he used to be affiliated with the Deadlock Gang and went rogue for an unknown reason.

"It will take about 30 minutes to arrive at our destination, sir."

Gabriel confirmed with the driver and turned around to his boys, "I know one of you fucks snuck on some whiskey. Hand it over."

They shifted uncomfortably before one reached down and pulled out a metal container from his ankle. "I fucking knew it," Gabriel twisted the cap off to relish the bitter taste. "I know how much you all get paid, carry something better next time."

The next 30 minutes were uneventful. He caught up on debriefings for a few missions coming down the pipeline while the whiskey in his belly warmed him up. He preferred being a little loose before playing bad cop. He snorted to himself, he's not playing, he is the bad cop.

The Department of Homeland Security facility was impressive, to say the least. They traveled through three checkpoints before a group met them at their car. Gabriel didn't like all the dick waving, he wasn't going to be intimidated by a bunch of suits trying to puff up their chests when a division of Overwatch rolled in.

"Welcome to America," a middle-aged woman in a sharp suit and neatly pinned hair stuck out her hand. "My name is agent Bre Holmes, thanks for coming on the short notice."

Their done-up garb contrasted sharply with his team. They were dressed in black and sporting bulletproof vests. Gabriel had told them a long time ago he didn't give a damn if it made them uncomfortable, he wasn't wasting his time training people and then letting them get shot.

"Name's Gabriel Reyes," he shook her hand and they entered the building. "I finished speaking with the detainee about 15 minutes before you arrived," Bre said as she waved them past security. "Overwatch has a particular interest in him?"

"We do." He didn't feel like talking. The last thing he wanted was U.S. intelligence sticking its nose somewhere it didn't belong.

The elevator took them down some 10 floors of silence before it came to a halt. "Right this way."

" _S_ _he took the hint_ ," he thought. " _We're not here to make nice_." Multiple pairs of eyes tracked them out of the elevator and down the hall to one of a number of closed doors.

"There is a camera and speakers in the room that are recording," Bre's tone was colder. "We will be listening from outside. If you have any trouble, you can wave and we will come in."

He nodded and walked through the door.

A scruffy, tanned man sat at a steel table in the intentionally cold and uninviting room. He took a seat on the other side, noting the metal around the man's wrists. "Your name is," he glanced down at the folder. "Jesse McCree?"

"Hmm," he looked Gabriel up and down. "You seem familiar. Ain't I killed you before?"

"That which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger," he replied. So this was him. "Stitches come out when I get back."

Jesse raised an eyebrow. "I don't usually miss."

"You didn't."

The pair took a moment to mentally size each other up. Jesse was impressed at his toughness; he wasn't used to seeing men again after he'd acquainted them with a little thing called Fan the Hammer. Gabriel was silently relieved he'd been incapacitated by a man who looked like he knew what the fuck he was doing.

"So," Gabriel flipped open the dossier. "You ran with the Deadlock Gang up until recently. What happened?"

Jesse shrugged. "Had a feelin' it was my time to get goin'. Y'all kept blowin' our shit up, too."

Gabriel chuckled. "Yet you supposedly turned around and commandeered an entire train all on your lonesome. Seems like a much easier job with a group of people." His eyes darted to the camera on the wall. "Funny, I hear they found a bunch of dead gang members on the train. Bullet holes, too, like there'd been a fight."

Jesse held up his cuffed hands. "I'm only one man."

"-That everyone is blaming this on."

"What else is in that packet 'bout me? Got my high school crush in there? She was a real looker I tell you." Jesse scooted forward at just enough of an angle to block a portion of his body from the camera. "It tell you where my damn hat is? It's cold as shit in here."

Gabriel pushed the folder across the table. "She isn't, blonde?"

"Aye, kissed by the sun. She had all these little freckles on her nose. Bet that girl grew up to be damn fine." He pinched a corner with his fingers and began reading. "Guess her pops was right, always said I was trouble."

The few seconds after Jesse started reading told Gabriel they wouldn't be interrupted. The contents of the folder were Overwatch property, anyway.

After only a minute Jesse looked up. A faint smile twitched the side of his lips hidden from the camera.

"What's the weather like in Zurich?"

"Fucking sucks."

"Speaking of sucks, you've been drinkin' some really shitty whiskey, pal. What is that, Red Label?" Jesse asked.

"Good guess," Gabriel replied. "Didn't have anything better on hand."

"I prefer moonshine myself, haven't had much time to make it."

"You are aware it's not 1885, right?"

Jesse contemplated the ceiling, "Here's hopin'."

Gabriel stood up and walked around the room, eventually stopping in front of the camera. "Those are the only questions I had for you," he said. "Do you have any for me?"

The outlaw dropped the pen on the table with a decisive smack. "Just one. When do I start?"

The door slammed open to reveal a red-faced Bre and some of her buddies. Gabriel's men stood casually behind them. "What the fuck is going on?" She snatched the folder away from Jesse, sending the pen flying onto the floor. "What fucking game are you trying to pull? Is this a motherfucking job offer?"

"It is, and as of about," Gabriel checked the clock. "A minute and a half ago, you are now detaining an official member of Overwatch. Someone get those cuffs off him."

"Excuse me?" She shouted.

"Did I fucking stutter?" He shot back. "Get his damn cuffs off, get his shit and bring it to our car. If he's detained for one more God damn minute this will become a diplomatic incident I will shove so far up your pretty little ass you'll be vomiting it on the floor."

Jesse helpfully stuck his hands up from the chair. "Thank ya kindly, darling."

Bre looked like she was about to explode. She whipped around and stormed out of the room, yelling for someone to get her on the phone with the United Nations. One of the suits with her hesitated before taking Jesse's cuffs off.

He rubbed his wrists and stood up. "Looks like we should be gettin' outta here."

"Let's go," Gabriel nodded to his men outside and they were escorted back up to the ground floor. A tense silence hung in the air as they walked outside. A man was already loading Jesse's belongings into the back of the car.

"Whoa there," Jesse said. "Let me take a look." He rummaged through and found everything he needed, holstering his girl on his hip.

Gabriel gave a sarcastic wave when they got in the car. No one waved back.

He had decided from the moment he walked in the door that he wanted Jesse. He had the intel on Deadlock, the balls to get shit done and an attitude he liked.

He turned around to Jesse, "Get comfortable, it's about 30 back to the airport, and then a long flight."

"Tell me the plane has food," Jesse moaned and dramatically grabbed his stomach. "I think they were tryin' to starve me to death."

Gabriel smirked, "and booze."

* * *

Lena joined Angela and Jack for their daily run around the compound. They were forced to get up earlier and earlier to try and avoid the heat that had climbed into the upper 80s, something Angela wasn't too happy about.

"So," Lena huffed. "You two seriously do this every day? Like, Monday through Friday? 'An you like it?"

"We sure do. Stop being such a baby, you aren't out of shape," Jack smacked her on the back. "Get a move on."

"Hey! That's rude. Try not to break a hip, eh?"

"Come here, punk."

" _Those two_ ," Angela shook her head and watched Jack chase after Lena. There's no way he would catch her.

She caught up to them a little ways down the path. It was fun to have someone join them; she'd tried to convince Reinhardt and Ana to no avail. Twenty minutes later the trio came to a stop. "Thanks for coming Lena!" Angela said. "Feel free to join us anytime."

"Ya right!" Lena pointed up. "The sun's barely up, I hate getting up this early. I'm going back to bed, see ya!"

Jack held up his phone after she left. "Gabriel is on his way back. They should be here by the afternoon with someone who will need to be checked in. He'll need a physical since I don't believe we have any medical records, will that be a problem?"

"Not at all," Angela said. "I can have Simon doing a basic run up while I clear Gabriel for operations."

"I was just about to ask, he is good to go? I'd like him back out on the field asap."

"I believe so, yes, pending he didn't do anything stupid while he was gone."

Jack laughed as they made their way inside. "He does have a penchant for getting into trouble. I'll see you later."

The next few hours bled away while Angela waited in the lab for Gabriel to get back. She was excited to see him - a feeling she acknowledged as peculiar - and also nervous. Stitches meant being alone. And touching.

" _Lord, why am I even thinking about this?_ "

Because it enticed her, that's why. Her body had started a fantastically irritating drumbeat of desire ever since their encounter, like a dormant bear waking up from hibernation. Angela did not want to admit she as sexually frustrated, but she was. Horribly so. Gabriel had just brought it rampaging back to the front of her mind.

" _Ok, Ang, let's be logical here. The last thing you should be doing is sexualizing a coworker. That is how people get fired. You have had to fire people for workplace fraternization. Stop it._ "

Why in the world wouldn't her body listen to her mind? It was like the more she tried to logic through the problem, the louder her body screamed for sex. I mean, who was she kidding, she knew why from a science perspective. Unfortunately, it wasn't very useful in practical application.

A clock chime announcing 4:15 p.m. pulled her out of her musings.

Simon poked his head around a corner - he'd figured out she was in a quiet mood pretty quickly - and waved to get her attention.

"Doctor, I believe they've returned. Would you still like me to assist you with processing?"

"Please," her nerves fluttered. "Thank you, Simon."

They didn't have to wait long before a nurse came back to let them know they had patients. Gabriel, Jack and a man Angela wasn't familiar with stood in the waiting room. She didn't quite know what to make of him; he looked like a recreation of an old Western film.

"Angela, Simon," Jack began. "This is Jesse McCree. He's our newest member. Jesse, this is Dr. Angela Ziegler, our head of medical, and her lead assistant, Simon Schmidt."

He grabbed her hand with a warm handshake and a pleasant drawl. "No one told me Overwatch had such beautiful doctors, I woulda joined earlier."

Angela couldn't help giggling. "A pleasure, Jesse McCree. If you would please follow Simon, he's going to administer a basic physical and some routine tests."

"Aw, darlin', I was sure hoping that was going to be you," Jesse winked.

"Coincidentally, you already know him because those were his bullets you pulled out of my chest," Gabriel interrupted.

"What?" Angela raised a brow. "You're the one who shot him?"

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It was just a misunderstanding, really. Guess we're all on the same team now."

Before she could say anything else, Jack cut in to send Jesse off with Simon. They had a lot to get done. "A lovely surprise meetin' you, ma'am," Jesse tipped his hat and followed Simon away. She let Jack know how long it would take and he took his leave.

"What is going on?" Angela wondered aloud. They recruited the guy who almost killed Gabriel? How strange.

"No longer bottom of the totem pole, doc." Gabriel's voice brought her back. "I want these stitches out, the itching is driving me insane."

" _Keep a calm head, doctor,_ " she thought. "I told you to use lotion."

She could feel him staring into the back of her head as they walked to an examination room. "Do I look like someone who uses lotion?"

"No," she tossed back. "Just someone who complains about things that are easily preventable. Go ahead and take a seat."

Angela shut the door, washed her hands and pulled on gloves. "This shouldn't take very long, there will be some discomfort. I can apply a local anesthetic if you would like?"

"I think I'll survive."

Gabriel started working on taking off the vest while Angela prepped scissors and tweezers. She didn't want to turn around yet.

"How's the shooting going?" He watched her back stiffen. All Gabriel wanted to do was reach out and pull her up against the table. He'd been looking forward to this the entire flight back.

"Uh, it's alright, thank you. I scheduled a range test tomorrow with Jack."

"I can administer them too," he liked toying with her. "I'm available for night calls."

He got the reaction he wanted when she turned around, face red and eyes fierce. "Do not tease me about that Gabriel. I had no idea you would be there!"

"You didn't seem to mind too much that I was."

She ignored him.

Gabriel wrangled the last of the fasteners free and peeled off the vest. "Is that uncomfortable?" Angela asked.

"What, the bulletproof vest? Yes. It's hot, heavy and bulky, and a necessity," he replied. "I don't want my men getting shot because it was more convenient to leave it behind." He stripped off the lighter shell armor and finally the undershirt, relishing the cold air on his skin. "Shit, that feels good."

Heat struck her body like lightning and coiled in the pit of her stomach. He epitomized masculinity in that moment: muscle, aggression, sweat and dominance.

"See something you like?"

"Was hast du gesagt?" She stammered. She did, she saw a lot of things she liked. Fuck. "That's inappropriate," were the first English words she managed to spit out. "Please stay still, I need to disinfect the area."

Angela set scissors, tweezers, a cotton ball and disinfectant on a tray next to the table. "Sit up straight, please."

He did as he was told, closing his eyes while her fingers worked their way over the stitches. Her hands were hot this time. "That feels good," he murmured.

There was no hiding her face's redness. She soaked the cotton ball and started patting down the stitches. "It looks like they have closed up nicely," she said. "Gabriel, it's amazing you've healed this fast. I've never seen anything like it."

He opened his eyes to catch hers. "I had a good doctor."

Gabriel searched her face as he let his words hang in the air. He wondered what she would do if he grabbed her hips and dragged her onto the table. He waved a hand at the scissors. "It's itchy, take 'em out."

She felt like a mouse in a cage with a cat. He had somehow managed to invade her mental and physical comfort zones. Angela snipped at the knot on one end of the first row of stitches, pulling and weaving the thread as she clipped.

He winced, it was like someone was poking him with a pin. Gabriel could tell she wanted him; the way her breathing increased, her face got red and her eyes dilated were all the body's way of saying what it needed. He wondered what she would have done if his thigh had needed stitches. The thought made him grin.

Angela almost didn't notice the light touch of his index finger against her thigh - she had no idea how long it had been there until it traced a lazy path up and back down.

"Gabriel."

His finger stopped moving. "Angela?"

"What are you doing?"

"Getting my stitches taken out."

The cheeky comment irritated her. Was this some kind of a stupid joke?

"You," she focused on the sixth stitch. "To be frank, have been nothing but rude to me the majority of the time I have been here. And now ..." Angela looked up at him, "You acted like you hated me."

Gabriel watched her eyes search his. "I like you just fine, cariño."

"Your behavior is not appropriate," she retorted.

His voice was low and husky, "None of that was you saying stop."

She tugged at the stitch a touch harder than she needed to.

Gabriel didn't push it and pulled his hand back. It was going to be baby steps, then. He could deal with that. He'd gotten all the answers he needed.

Angela dropped the final thread in the trash, reluctant and relieved at the same time stepping away from him. "You're good to go," she let years of practicing the lines take over. "Please use mild soap and be gentle when cleaning the area. The wounds can swell, bleed or split open if stretched or bumped. I recommend covering the wounded areas with some form of dressing and using sunblock if it is exposed to direct sunlight. I will update your medical files as cleared for combat."

"Right," the fun was over. Gabriel carefully put his shirt back on and picked up the armor and vest. "Gracias, doc." He left without waiting for her reply, there was actual work to take care of.

The click of the door ripped Angela back into reality. She gasped and put a hand over her heart in a desperate attempt to comfort herself.


	17. Facing Reality

***If there's a better way for me to give you guys updates through FanFiction than just adding this note at the top of a new chapter, let me know! Ahem, but anyway, I finished this on Tuesday but sat on it until Thursday just to make you guys suffer (just kidding). I wanted to hold it for a bit longer so I don't burn myself out trying to publish chapters every 3-4 days. Enjoy!***

* * *

Jack stood behind her, arms folded. "Let's see what you can do."

Angela raised the gun, aimed and fired. Fired. Fired. Fired.

" _You've got this, girl._ " She adjusted her grip, resighted and fired four more times.

"Alright," Jack walked up next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. He gave it a reassuring squeeze and hit the button to pull back the target. "I'm sure you did great."

Jack did a good job at making her feel like she would actually pass. Torbjorn made a custom pistol that synchronized with her VSRS for when she was allowed back on the field; the gun was lighter and personalized to her grip and height.

She'd been spending more time with Jack, and Lena when she wanted to join them. They grew closer as the days grew hotter. She could count on him to be game to go for a run, or go swimming or do something that broke up the tedious routine Overwatch could occasionally fall into. Gabriel was often gone now that he was combat cleared, and she had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, Angela enjoyed the time she spent with Jack. It was safe and easy, something she could fall into without thinking. On the other hand, Gabriel was hard. It seemed like she was always scrambling for the next thing to say, wondering if he was bored or trying to get on offense when she was perpetually stuck on defense.

" _Not that I'm comparing the two. Because they're my coworkers, and that would be silly._ "

Eight bullet holes graced the target. Six peppered the inner circles around the bullseye, two flirted with the center. She passed.

"Well I'll be damned, you pulled it off," Jack pulled the target down. "Congratulations Ang!"

She stared at the target. He was right, she would now be carrying a lethal weapon in the field. Angela offered a half-hearted smile. "Thanks Jack. I wish I felt happier."

"Ang stop. This is a good thing. You're not going to be taking people down like I am, you know that."

"Ya, I-" she flipped on the gun's safety. "I never thought I'd carry a gun. It freaks me out to think I might have to kill someone. But you know what?" Angela picked up the ammo and walked with Jack to the desk. "I shouldn't be such a downer. Thanks for all your help, Jack, I appreciate it."

Jack feigned tears and fanned his face, "I get so emotional watching my babies grow up."

He dodged when she tried to punch him and burst into laughter. "Come on, I'm teasing! Now you can get back in your angel armor and fly around like Tinkerbell." Jack was out of range before she had a chance to land another hit. "Get back here! Tinkerbell my ass, get down range and I'll show you what's what."

She was hot on his heels as he made a B line out of the armory straight into Jesse and Ana.

Ana stepped back in time to not get mowed down, "What in the world?"

Angela panted and pointed, "I was chasing after the first person I'm going to shoot now that I've passed my range tests."

"My my," Jesse looked between them. "I thought you were the only firecracker 'round here, Ana."

Ana rolled her eyes, "Your flattery falls short, McCree."

"It's a work in progress, darlin'."

"Gerard and Amelie are out again," Ana said. "Gabriel and Lena, too. It seems like things have been busier lately. Jack, have you received any reports that shed some light on why?"

"Nothing definitive. Upticks in activity by Los Muertos, Deadlock and Talon, and we're still flushing out the remaining Omnic pockets," he replied. "Deadlock really isn't happy Jesse is with us - and alive."

The cowboy stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Simultaneously their pagers all started buzzing. Ana got to hers first, "Shit, fun's over. Hey Jesse," the Egyptian winked at him. "Try and keep up."

"Time to earn this paycheck."

Thirty minutes later the four watched Overwatch disappear in the distance as they headed to Russia.

* * *

The days slipped into weeks before Angela realized it was September. Her phone had alerted her to that phenomenon in the wee hours of the morning. They'd set out for their seventh mission in as many days a few hours ago; Angela couldn't say she was thrilled to be sitting in the VTOL nursing a coffee earlier than 6 a.m.

Reinhardt sat across from her snoring gently - he had the impressive talent of being able to sleep wherever, whenever. Ana was going over documents with Gerard; Jack, Gabriel, Jesse, Ana and Amelie discussed maneuvers on a virtual map; Lena was asleep with her head on Winston's lap.

They were on their way to Italy. An Omnic cell had emerged and wreaked havoc on a small coastal town, Overwatch was on its way to put down the machines and any looters so rescue teams could get in to look for survivors.

Athena came over the PA system to announce their descent. Winston woke Lena up and Angela moved over to shake Reinhardt awake. "Vat iz going on?" He rubbed his eyes and stretched out. "Are ve zhere already?"

"We are," she offered him the rest of the coffee. "You need this more than I do."

Angela didn't see Gabriel as she walked over to grab her staff and gun until they almost collided. His hands steadied her waist as he moved her out of the way, "Watch where you're going, doc."

She hopped away from him, "Sorry!" Angela said it a little louder than she meant to, earning a quizzical expression from Lena and a faint smile from Gabriel.

" _God dammit,_ " she thought. " _Here I am acting like a total weirdo ... I'll blame it on the coffee._ "

Jack gave a rundown of the plan: Reinhardt would take point for a sweep through the Omnics. Once they'd cleared them out, groups would split off to canvas for looters and survivors and quell any opportunists taking advantage of the chaos. "Angela," Jack said. "Reinhardt's shield won't hold forever, I need you alert to that until we've taken care of the Omnics."

"Ok," she nodded.

The doors opened and they piled out into the bright sunshine. They didn't get far when gunfire shattered the air. Progress slowed the closer they got to the Omnics. Gerard, Ana and Amelie had found positions around the machines and started a steady beat of sniper fire.

Gabriel disappeared down an alley to flank with Winston.

Reinhardt, Jack, Jesse and Angela continued forward. A splattering of bullets peppered the wall a few yards ahead of them. "Get ready," Jack barked.

They turned the corner to about a dozen Omnics firing indiscriminately. Some were attempting to locate the sniper fire, others seemed to be shooting in random directions. Reinhardt's shield materialized in front of them, catching one mech's attention. It swapped configuration from recon to sentry and its Gatling gun started to whirl. "Brace yourselves!" Reinhardt shouted.

Seconds later a blast of gunfire that sent Angela stumbling back slammed into Reinhardt's shield. Other Omnics started turning around and changing into sentry mode. Jack shot off Helix Rockets and returned fire with Lena.

"I can't hold forever!" Reinhardt yelled. "I can keep this up for 30 seconds and then I'm heading in."

"Stick with me, Angela. Lena, Jesse, you're good?"

"Hell ya!" Lena darted around the shield and dove behind a truck. Jesse followed close behind. Reinhardt dropped his shield, engaged his thrusters and rocketed forward. Angela followed close to Jack with her amplification stream as he continued firing.

A plume of fire erupted out of the side of one of the Omnics where a sniper's bullet found its mark. A grenade by Lena finished it off.

Reinhardt plowed into an Omnic, taking its left arm off with a mighty swing of his hammer; Gabriel appeared behind a third and laid into it with his shotguns.

Winston radioed in from across the field, "Sustaining fire, need backup!"

"I've got you!" Angela tapped Jack on the shoulder and launched toward Winston, engaging her healing beam. She was half way to him when a tank-configured Omnic buried him in a cloud of debris.

"Winston!"

Gabriel ripped a hole through its turret and Reinhardt smashed it and threw up his shield over Winston. Jesse lit up an Omnic with Fan the Hammer.

Angela landed next to Winston as the dust settled. "Shit," she gasped. His shoulder was torn away by the shot and blood soaked his neck and chest. "Winston? Winston, can you hear me?"

She'd never had to use Resurrection. " _Please work,_ " she prayed Winston's tech was about to save his life.

"Helden sterben nicht!" She pressed the button and a golden explosion of light flared up from the staff and enveloped the lifeless figure. The next moments where something she would later report to the U.N. as "science fiction come to life." Light and space distorted around Winston, throwing his body forward and back through the motions of being hit as if someone had pressed rewind on a movie.

He roared as he landed on his feet, blood gone and shoulder intact. He flailed for an instant until he registered Angela's voice. "Winston you're alright. You're alright."

He huffed under the onslaught of bullets, "Curious. It's good to know it works."

One of their snipers immobilized another mech that Jack and Lena quickly destroyed.

They made swift work of the remaining Omnics; Jesse sent the final one to Omnic heaven with a round to its face. The red light flickered for a moment before going dark.

"Objective one cleared, good work team." Jack paired everyone off. "Lena, Winston, Reinhardt and Jesse, make contact with rescue teams and cover quadrant one. Snipers, quadrant two. Gabriel, Angela and I will take quadrant three. Call in any injured you find."

She fell in behind the two to start the task of patrolling for targets and calling in rescue teams. They moved slowly, careful to canvas collapsed buildings as best they could and search rubble for survivors. Angela was administering first aid to a young man when a gun tore apart the silence. She spun around to find Gabriel standing over a body.

"If you don't shoot them, they shoot you," he said bluntly.

Angela ignored him and went back to the young man. "You will be alright, ok? I've called in a team to your location." He nodded and they moved on.

It went on like that for another two hours: slow, monotonous and hot. They finally finished their section and radioed in. The others had had similar luck - some thieves, vandals and thugs and a large amount of both casualties and injured.

'Wait," Angela paused a couple steps behind Gabriel and Jack. "Did you hear that?"

Gabriel shrugged. "No," Jack said. "What is it?"

"There it is again," she pointed down an alley. "It sounds like a child crying. I'm going."

"Hold on, I'll come with you," Jack said. "Gabriel?"

"I think you two can handle a kid," Gabriel rubbed his face. "I'll be here."

Angela and Jack scrambled over debris toward the faint sound of crying. She spotted a young girl partially pinned under rubble and steel beams. "Jack, there!"

"I see her, be careful."

She stepped off the ground and let her wings carry her to the young girl. Angela landed with her arm outstretched, "You're safe now."

The girl looked up in wonder at the glowing wings; her lower lip started to quiver as she reached out for Angela.

"Shh, no need to cry, you're alri-" Angela's voice was whisked into the wind by gunfire above them. The girl screamed and ducked down.

"Angela it's an ambush!" Jack shouted. "Get your head down!"

"What the hell?" Gabriel sprinted in their direction.

She turned around, gun drawn, to shield the toddler. A body hit a wall and slumped over in a trail of blood, eliciting a shriek from the girl.

"It's ok," Angela reassured her. "No one is going to hurt you."

"There!" The girl wailed and Angela swiveled around to a man rounding the corner, gun trained on them.

She fired six times, Jack would tell her later. The only thing she remembered was the noise, the girl's screams and the way the man's body crumpled in on itself.

"-rcy, mercy, mercy, mercy" sobs focused her adrenaline-soaked brain. The girl was cowering below her, repeating the word "mercy" over and over.

Angela tried to reach out but she flinched away. "No no," her mind was going a mile a minute. He was dead. She killed someone. The girl was terrified of her, thought she was a monster, too. "You're ok, shh, it's ok." Fluttering her wings seemed to do the trick. The young girl peaked up to look at her smiling face. "See? It's ok. I'm here to help, he was a bad guy. You don't like bad guys, do you?"

" _I just killed someone._ "

She shook her head no.

"Neither do I," Angela said. "I'm a good guy. And you're a very brave little girl. Can you take my hand?"

The only thing anchoring her in that moment was the girl's tiny hand in hers as Angela pulled her out of the wreckage and picked her up. The toddler threw her arms around Angela's neck and buried her head into her shoulder.

" _I just killed someone._ "

It took all her strength to hold the girl and not dry heave. His body was lifeless on the ground on top of a growing pool of blood. She willed herself not to look, but she couldn't stop.

" _I just killed someone._ "

"Angela!"

" _I just killed someone._ "

The little girl's panicked squirming once again brought Angela back to the present. "Hey hey," she cooed at the girl. "He's a good guy. His name is Jack. Can you say hi to Jack?"

"Hi Jack," she mumbled from the safety of Angela's shoulder.

" _I just killed someone._ "

"You're alright?" Jack glanced from her to the body. "Are either of you hurt?"

"No," she choked out. The question threatened to overwhelm her. " _Just him. Because I killed him."_

Jack gently touched her arm. "Ang, look at me. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine."

Gabriel came to a halt above them. "Jack, what the fuck happened?" He noticed the paleness in the doctor's face and the dead men.

"Ambush," he called up. "We have a child we need to get to a drop site."

"Roger, I'll call it in."

Jack guided Angela by the elbow up the rubble; she walked silently with the pair until they reached the rest of the team at the emergency relief safe zone. An aid worker met them inside the perimeter. "Thank you for all your help, this is the girl?"

"Yes," Jack said. "We don't think she has too many injuries, maybe minor scrapes."

The girl latched onto Angela and unleashed a fit of cries when the woman tried to take her. Angela didn't want to give her up, protecting the girl was the only thing keeping her from losing her grip.

Gabriel tapped his foot impatiently. "We're not taking her with us."

"Shut the fuck up," Jack snapped. "Ang she'll be ok, I can have them update us when they locate her family."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reached up and smoothed a thumb against the girl's cheek. "Can you look at me? Please?"

The girl blinked at her with watery eyes. "Hi," she bopped her on the nose. "See? You're safe now. This lady is going to help you find your family. Do you want to see your family?"

She nodded.

"I bet you do!" Angela pointed at the aid worker. "She's going to help you. Can you go with her?"

"Ok," she agreed.

Angela handed her over, and with it the only shield protecting her from the realization of what she had done. Her body felt cold; she knew it was the adrenaline - that didn't help.

Gabriel frowned watching Jack rub Angela's shoulders. The fuck happened, and when did they get so touchy?

"Let's go home, shall we?" Jack patted her arm.

"Ya, let's do that."

They met up with the other two groups at the VTOL and loaded on. A depressed mood tainted the group. The snipers had also run into trouble with looters setting up traps for aid workers. Reinhardt's team happened upon a family encased in a collapsed building, there was nothing they could do.

Jesse lit up a cigar, exhaling a deep cloud of smoke. "Huh?" He registered the eyes staring at him. "Y'all don't have asthma, do ya?"

"Go over there," Ana pointed to the far corner of the plane.

"Aw hun, you're hurtin' my feelins, won't you come with me? I'll get all lonely."

"Good grief," Ana stared at him. "Do you ever stop?"

He blew smoke at her. "Nope."

The flight home was uneventful. Jack was worried about Angela. He sat next to her to keep her company but she wasn't anything like her normal self. She was quiet, withdrawn and morose. He'd declined to explain to everyone else; they did him the courtesy of not pressing the matter. He always knew it was going to happen, only a matter of time. You don't run around battlefields with a gun and not eventually kill someone, he just didn't think it would happen so soon. One month into carrying? Shit.

Jack rested his hand on her knee, "I'm here if you need anything, Ang," he murmured. She clasped her hands together and stared at the floor.

" _Ok, enough of this shit,_ " Gabriel glared at them. "Jack, we should talk." He needed to know what happened, and needed Jack to stop fucking touching his doctor.

They huddled in the corner with Jesse. "What the fuck is this shit?" Gabriel motioned at the doctor.

Jack sighed. "She blasted a guy, you saw. They used that girl as bait. She saved her life," he gestured at her. "It was her biggest fear. Killing someone."

"She really that bent out of shape?" Jesse quipped.

"The whole reason she joined was to help people," Jack replied.

Gabriel had nothing to say. It had been a long ass time since his first kill; he certainly hated cheering people up, his job wasn't to play therapist. But he also wanted to have sex with her. " _Why can't she drown her issues in alcohol like the rest of us? Look at her, she's a damn Dementor._ "

He mustered up some patience to wait until he caught her eye; Angela watched as he pointed at her and pushed his chin up with a finger.

She looked away.

Angela was the first one off the VTOL when it landed back at Overwatch headquarters. Lena tried to catch up with her, but she disappeared out of the hangar. She had to be alone before she let herself break down.

Reinhardt picked up the gun she left on the plane. It had become obvious to everyone what happened. "I vill bring zis to her later."

"Good idea," Winston said.


	18. You Were Not Invited In

Angela took her morning run earlier than usual, a childish tactic to avoid Jack's worried looks and subtle comments.

She noted the VSRS, Caduceus staff and gun were gone when the lights flickered on in the medical ward. Suit training didn't take long, meaning she was able to take a leave of absence from operations and focus on research knowing someone was in the field taking care of the team.

Angela was, however, sick of people handling her like a porcelain doll. The last thing she needed was anyone's pity. If only she could go back in time and stuff the emotions that had consumed her into a tiny little box and feigned normality. " _Oh god,_ " she remembered. " _Even Gabriel is being unusually ... nice._ "

Anyway, whatever. She'd soldier through. It wasn't the first time she'd seen someone die - just the first time the primary cause was her.

Honestly, if Overwatch should worry about anyone, it was Gerard. They'd foiled an increasing rate of assassination attempts and he'd been placed on tighter and tighter security detail.

A yawn interrupted her thoughts and reminded her to get some coffee. Nightmares made restful sleep elusive, despite her best attempts at combating them. Simon seemed clued-in to the problem and had delicately suggested she consider making an appointment with one of Overwatch's psychiatrists; "It's fine," she had told him. "I'm stressed, is all."

He joined her in the lab 30 minutes later and they got to work on final testing for the biotic rifle.

"Good morning, Dr. Ziegler. How'd you sleep?"

She gave him a curt look, "Simon."

"Sorry."

Lunch and dinner became two of the few times she had to herself; the stack of papers she took with her did a good job deterring wannabe eating buddies.

One hand aimlessly held a forkful of salad, the other flipped through nanobiology notes splattered with musings scrawled across edges and between lines. The U.N. was more than pleased with the findings she had produced so far. While she was still extremely skeptical of some of the methods the U.N. employed, she believed the pros certainly outweighed the cons, for now.

And so went her new, self-imposed routine. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the nagging thought that she was ignoring a likely case of PTSD, something she knew should be addressed promptly and regularly. Too bad her shame and guilt kept her from dealing with it.

"So," Simon said. "What are you going to be for Halloween?"

Angela looked up from the test tube, "Halloween?"

"Well, ya!" He pulled up pictures on his computer. "It's right around the corner and we always do something fun."

"Hmm." Holidays were the furthest thing from her mind. "I'm not sure I'll be going."

Simon shook his head. "Unless you want a horde of ghouled-up people knocking your door down, you're going. Overwatch takes holidays very seriously."

"Thanks for the warning. What are you dressing up as?"

"I'm always Dr. Henry Jekyll," he replied. "I loved that book growing up."

The rest of the day was uneventful. She sent the day's notes to Torbjorn and told Simon he could leave.

Angela grabbed dinner to go and headed up to her apartment, where she noticed a white envelope in the box next to her door.

Shifting her dinner into one hand, she grabbed the letter with the other and pushed open the door with her hip. She set her stuff down and flopped onto the couch with the letter. The return address was listed as Italian Red Cross.

Her throat tightened: There was a letter and picture inside of the little girl her and Jack saved. She hadn't expected the Red Cross to take the time to get back to Overwatch. The picture showed a beaming girl with her mom and dad waving at the camera. " _She's alright after all,_ " Angela held the picture carefully, like it might crumble away at any moment. " _Why couldn't it have been without death?_ "

She felt the gun in her hands, felt its recoil as she fired without thinking to a chorus of screams.

Angela blinked and she was back on the couch, tears came close to tumbling over her eyelashes. "Scheisse," she wiped the tears away and opened the letter.

"To whom it may concern," it began. "Pertaining to the search and rescue operations conducted by the Italian Red Cross in conjunction with Overwatch, a request was made for an update on the whereabouts and condition of a rescued civilian. Pursuant to that request, the Italian Red Cross was able to successfully reunite the civilian with her family after receiving treatment."

Relief and sadness battled in her heart. She was incredibly relieved to know the girl and her family were safe and together - she did everything she was supposed to - but she still killed someone. There must have been another way. Right? Her armor could withstand enough shots for Jack to get there, for him to kill that man, not her.

"How selfish am I?" She said aloud. "Wishing someone else would take the burden of killing someone? You're better than this, Ziegler."

She resolved to get a picture frame as soon as she could and set the letter and picture aside. Angela refused to spend the rest of her night moping around, so she put a kettle on, lit a candle and picked a book for some much-needed pleasure reading.

The TV blipped on to a monotonous background noise of world news as she snuggled into a blanket to read. It was a hobby she didn't get to engage in much anymore, reading for fun. It encouraged her mind to unwind and recharge.

Some 30 pages in, a peculiar thump echoed above her. A minute or two passed and then there was another thump. And another.

" _What in the world are they doing?_ " She didn't know who lived above her, they were usually very quiet.

Angela tried her best to ignore it, but the thumping and sound of music continued to grow louder and louder. "This is ridiculous," she groaned. "It's a Tuesday night."

She wasn't a fan of confrontation. Unfortunately, without knowing who lived up there, she'd have to physically go up and knock. With a huff she shoved in a bookmark, turned off the TV, marched out the door and stepped into the elevator.

" _This is not a frat house, good grief,_ " she walked down the hall toward the growing noise. Angela rapped her knuckles on the door, folded her arms and waited.

One Jesse McCree opened the door, unleashing a blast of folksy music and a cloud of smoke. She frowned, "Um, hi."

"Hello darlin'!" McCree gave a whiskey-induced smile and threw the door wide. "Comin' to join us?"

"No thank you," she said. "Would you mind doing me a favor and keeping it down? My apartment is right under this one."

A couple of men she somewhat recognized stared at her curiously from the couch. Smoke trails from lit cigars strewn about whiskey glasses made lazy trails to the ceiling. And who else but Gerard and Gabriel were engaged in a grappling match that sent Gerard flipping over his shoulder onto the floor.

" _That explains it._ "

Gabriel helped Gerard up, "I fucking told you I'm better at sparring. Go find a roof to sit on, sniper." Gerard scoffed and pushed him away. "Stop gloating, I'd ping your ass from two miles away."

The look on Jesse's face threatened to melt her heart, like a scruffy dog that knew it was in trouble. "Pardon me, ma'am. I didn't realize we were bein' so loud. My apologies."

Jesse turned and made a big show of putting his finger to his lips. "The little lady lives under us. Y'all shut the fuck up, ya hear?"

She smiled anxiously, feeling like mom scolding her boys in the tree house. "Thanks, Jesse. Sorry for bothering you guys, have a good night."

Angela retreated back to the elevator before anyone else could say anything and made her way to her room. The brief encounter with their cigars left a pungent smell on her clothes that wrinkled her nose. She was half-tempted to print out the health risks of smoking and tape it to their door. " _I'm sure that would go over so well with Gabriel,_ " she thought.

Changing into a slip and robe, she plopped back onto the couch with her book in her now-considerably-more-quiet apartment. "Where was I," she mumbled.

To their credit, the boys did a much better job at keeping it down, probably because they weren't wrestling anymore. Angela had never understood that primal desire. What if you actually get hurt?

The relaxing smell of vanilla permeated the apartment and soothed her until she resembled a human cat: One foot poked out of the blankets she'd bundled herself in on the couch for cold air, the rest of her stretched out for maximum sofa coverage.

Angela didn't realize she'd dozed off until a knock roused her. Her clock read 1 a.m. She would be annoyed if that wasn't around the time her nightmares woke her up, anyway.

"Coming," she called out and eased herself out of the blanket's warmth.

Wrapping her robe around her, she padded to the door and opened it.

A drunk Gabriel Reyes swayed slightly on his feet and pushed his way into her apartment.

"Gabe-," she tried to stop him, but even drunk he was far more powerful than her. "I didn't invite you in, it's 1 a.m., what are you doing here?"

"Shh," he looked around. "Nice place."

"Don't shush me."

"Don't need to be shushed," he shot back. "I thought I'd swing by and see what Dr. Angela Ziegler thinks is so much more interesting than drinking whiskey and smoking cigars."

"You're drunk."

Gabriel grinned and pointed at her. "Correct."

She nervously watched him wander around her place. In the time it took her to glance away and shut the door, he was at her bedroom door.

"Gabriel!" Angela ran over and got between him and the door. "You're not welcome to investigate my living space uninvited."

He peaked over her head at the room he knew held a bed. "What about invited?" He wondered what color her sheets were.

Giving up, Gabriel stopped at the picture on the coffee table and picked it up. "This is that kid, isn't it?"

"Yes. I got it today."

"Jack still helping you feel better about killing someone?"

The comment caught her off guard. "Pardon me?"

His eyes suddenly seemed more dangerous. "It must be nice being a girl, getting shoulder massages whenever you blow someone's brains out."

Angela took a step back, like his words had physically hurt her. "I don't know what you're talking about, and don't appreciate your tone. Please leave."

Obviously that was the wrong answer. Gabriel stalked toward her and backed her up to the wall; a hand landed on either side of her head. "Don't lie to me, Angela."

"I'm not l-"

He cut her off. "When did you two get so close?"

The rapid questions, his proximity, and her realization of what she was wearing were throwing her off. "Jack and me? We're friends, if that's what you mean."

"Friends don't touch friends like that, Angela."

A thought occurred to her like lightning. "Gabriel," she bit her lip to keep from giggling. It all made sense. The drunk aggression, the accusations, the posturing. "You really came down here and barged in because you're jealous?"

"I don't get jealous," he snapped.

She called his bluff. "Then why are you here?"

The whiskey dulling his wits moved his attention back to more important things, like her lack of clothing. "You always wear this at night?" He tugged on the robe, revealing the curve of a breast disappearing into blue lace. "I like it."

Angela's heart sped up and she took a sharp breath. One of his hands left the wall and settled on her hip. "You are jealous."

"Of course I am," Gabriel pulled her hips into his and leaned into her ear. "Because I want you. And I get what I want."

Her eyes fluttered shut as his mouth traced across her cheek. His body was hot, and she couldn't stop herself from pushing into him. Any trace of irritation disappeared with just the faintest touch against her lips.

"Wait, this isn't-" Why was it so hard to think?

She scrambled through her jumbled thoughts; all she wanted to do was kiss him.

"You want me, too," he whispered. "Don't worry about the rules so much."

Angela did. Apartment breaking in and rude comments aside, he made her body go crazy. He had this way about him, this ability to control her moods that she had never experienced before. He was the first person to make her want for something intense, unrestrained and passionate when she was naturally careful and methodical. The men Angela went for in the past were calm, reserved and poised. Gabriel was wild. Violent. She wanted to try and tame that violence.

Thoughts raced through her mind: tumbling into bed, turning off the lights and exploring everything under his clothes. Her face flushed; she couldn't stop the moan escaping into the lips an inch from hers.

"Please," she mustered enough willpower to turn her head away. "I think you should go." She didn't trust herself.

Gabriel might be inebriated, but he wasn't the type of man to push a woman past what she wanted to do - even if he thought she wanted to do a lot more. He stepped back and gave her apartment one last once-over. He'd be back. "Sleep tight," he winked, and sauntered out.

* * *

Gabriel's head hurt.

He rolled out of bed and the pain in his head tripled. "Fuck."

Hot water did little to alleviate his suffering; he sat in the shower for half an hour anyway.

Forcing down toast, painkillers and as much water as he could stomach without puking, Gabriel climbed back into bed and buried his head under a cold pillow.

It had been a long time since someone kept up with him in drinking like Jesse did.

A tiny thought tickled his foggy memory. He'd gone to Angela's apartment last night. How the hell did he know where it was?

" _That's right,_ _she came up to tell us to shut the fuck up._ "

Boobs. There were definitely boobs.

Oh ya.

She'd been in some skimpy little nightgown, not quite what he expected from the doc.

There'd been touching, too.

The pain thumping his temples didn't stop the smile when he remembered how her hips had moved against his.

" _I should get shitfaced more often,_ " he thought.

Gabriel rolled over and willed himself back to sleep.


	19. Stupid Prizes

***Hey guys! Here's the latest installment. I'm planning to have the Halloween chapter drop ON Halloween (love how that timing worked out!) and it should be a great chapter! For all those getting a little impatient, have no fear, we're just starting to tip over the top of the rollercoaster. As always, reviews, follows and favorites are appreciated. Thanks!***

* * *

"Get the fuck away from me you psycho!"

Another punch to the nose shut him up.

"I wouldn't be here if you hadn't been causing trouble, minister."

The man scrambled across his bedroom, there was nowhere left to go.

Gabriel took his time wandering through the room. Pretty standard, as far as Turkish style went, not his taste. He picked up the family picture on the nightstand and showed it to the man. "You think they'll miss you?"

"Do not speak of my family," the minister snarled. "American dog." Blood dripped from his broken nose onto an expensive silk suit.

Gabriel laughed, dropping the picture frame on the ground. "Woof woof, minister." He walked around the bed to the fat, balding, 50-something man. His feeble attempts at kicking Gabriel were rewarded with a cracked tibia and screams.

It was pitiful. Men were so easily reduced to pathetic, whimpering messes with a little bit of pain. This man was no exception. What happened to his gender? What happened to the cavemen of old who survived on grit, determination and willpower? The Genghis Khans, Attila the Huns and Joseph Stalins of the world. Men who fucked shit up, took what they wanted and crushed anyone who stood in their way. Fuck. Now all you had were pansy-ass bitches that didn't even know what the word testosterone meant.

"Shh, shh. Minister, please, you'll wake the neighbors," Gabriel crouched down so they were eye level. "You can't embezzle from your government and funnel it to terrorists. You think we weren't going to notice? You think we're too stupid?"

He received strained whimpers.

"Look, alright. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to take this here knife," Gabriel pulled the glinting metal from its sheath. "And I'm going to slit your throat. I'm going to slit your throat because you're a stupid motherfucker. You played stupid games, and now you're getting your stupid prize. Comprende? You understand?"

The minister closed his eyes and started to cry.

Gabriel leaned forward and patted the side of the knife against the man's lips. "Now now, no crying. Didn't your pops ever tell you men shouldn't cry? See, what you should do is look at me and say, 'Fuck you.'"

He spit blood on Gabriel's vest.

"There you go."

In one fluid motion, he slid the knife across the man's throat and severed his windpipe, carotid artery and jugular vein. The man lurched and gurgled, frantically clawing at his neck as his body went into spasms.

He was always impressed at the knife's sharpness. Wiping the blood off on his pants, he sheathed the knife and left the room, cutting off the death rattles when he closed the door.

"Time to go home, boys."

* * *

Duck, dodge, weave.

Jack and Gabriel danced around each other in the sparring ring.

Gerard and Reinhardt watched from the sidelines as they traded jabs, cheering when an occasional punch was landed. Reinhardt was team Jack, Gerard team Gabriel.

"I'm telling you," Gerard said. "Gabe is going to win. He's a close combat guy, this is his shit."

"No! Ze vinner vill be Jack!" Reinhardt raised a fist. "And you vill owe me a beer vhen zis is over!"

"Ya ya, keep dreaming big guy."

Gabriel backed Jack into a corner and landed two punches to the gut before Jack recovered and nailed him in the shoulder. "What kind of hit was that," he teased Jack. "Forget to eat your spinach this morning?"

"Shut the fuck up," Jack huffed, swung, and missed. "Do me a real favor though and stop moving so much."

Gabriel seized on his distraction and hit him three times in the chin. Jack reeled back as Gabriel grabbed him by the waist and brought him to the mat.

"See, told you," Gerard said.

"Vhatever."

Jack rubbed his chin after they'd pulled their gloves off and stepped out of the ring. "Jeez, Reyes. Didn't need to hit that hard."

Gabriel shrugged.

"When's Ziegler coming back out with us?" Gerard asked.

"Good question," Jack said. "I'm working on her. She's not like us, you know? I think killing someone messed with her. That takes time."

Gabriel had not seen Angela since he'd made his late night visit. Did he feel a little sheepish? Sure. He didn't let it bother him beyond that. He'd grown busier and busier with Blackwatch operations and wasn't spending as much time with the main Overwatch contingent. If Jack had noticed, he wasn't saying anything. He seemed to spend all of his time in front of the camera, anyway. As long as people recognized who the real leader of Overwatch was and always had been, Gabriel didn't give a damn what Jack did.

He peeled his shirt off in the locker room, noting the already-forming bruises. "You think those are bad," Jack said. "I can already feel my chin swelling."

"Shoulda kept your hands up," Gabriel replied.

"Ok, what the fuck is up with you?" Jack crossed his arms and leaned against one of the lockers. "Lately you've been crabbier than usual and a real prick. What gives?"

"Do you usually wait until you're half-naked with someone in a locker room to ask about their feelings?"

"Gabe, come on."

"I'm just not sure why you care," Gabriel said. "You spend most of your time on TV. The U.N. is parading you around like its show bitch and you sure as shit don't seem to care about that. Why should you care about how I feel, or how the doc feels?"

"Fuck you, how can you even question if I care? I helped build Overwatch with you Gabriel, we came into this together."

"Ya, and now you're doing media hits and I'm doing what needs to get done."

"You mean assassinating people?"

Gabriel's hands curled into fists. "The world isn't a pretty place, boy scout. No matter how much makeup you put on it."

Honestly? Gabriel was right. The world WASN'T a nice place. It was, as Thomas Hobbes said, "Solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short." Cellphones, cars, 4k porn, it didn't make a flying fuck of a difference. Life was still life: One flick of a knife, one twitch of a finger on a trigger and a life was snuffed out as easily as a candle in the wind. Life was fragile. Life was broken. Life was delicate. Gabriel was the one who didn't have problems breaking the fine china.

Jack still held on to some romantic notion of heroics. He believed that each individual life played an integral role in the twists and turns of the universe. Gabriel believed each life removed oxygen from the next. Life was precious and wonderful to humans because, for some reason, we developed enough of a frontal lobe to be embarrassed when we took a shit. That doesn't mean we're special. That doesn't mean we fucking matter. That means we knew how to make tools, and those tools helped us club the fuck out of the stupid piece of shit that tried to take what we had.

"I don't know what the fuck crawled up your asshole and put you in such a dark mood, but pull it the fuck out. I'm doing this television bullshit because I was ordered to. What do you want me to do, say no?" Jack's voice had almost reached a shout by the end of the sentence.

"Right." Gabriel fell silent as another group walked in. He took his towel, walked into a shower stall, flipped on the hot water and shut the door.

He wished it was the other night and he was smashed off his rocker trying to dry hump Angela. He wished he was drunk. He wished he wasn't so angry. He wished the black hole of resentment that had formed in his gut would stop getting bigger and bigger. What did happen? What happened to years past when he and Jack were an unstoppable duo? When had that little seed of animosity been planted that grew like a wild weed threatening to choke their brotherhood?

"Maldita sea," he said as the hot water soothed his skin. "Maldita sea."

* * *

Jack slid into the seat next to Angela at her lunch table, "Hi stranger."

"Jeez, Jack, you scared me."

"Woulda seen me coming if you pulled your eyes out of your notes," he plucked them from her hands. "What are you working on?"

She laughed when he pulled the papers out of her reach. "Stop it! I'm not Fareeha, that's not funny, give them back."

"I made you laugh," he handed them back. "That's gotta count, right?"

"I told you I'm fine."

"Ahuh, sure."

Angela gave up her facade of strength a long time ago. It had instead warped into an ugly shield: it sent others scampering for the hills, except for Jack. Jack always tried again.

A piece of her died the day she took away a life. She wasn't religious, per se, but she felt the shift in her world. She felt the weight fall on her shoulders; it was a similar weight to the first time she lost someone on her operating table.

The fault was not hers - he had congenital heart failure. The fault was not hers when she buried her hands in his bloody chest, furiously pumping a heart that desperately wanted to sleep. She massaged it, she begged it to start again, she screamed at her nurses to do something. Anything.

Sometimes you can't stop death.

That's what she told herself, at least. She ground it into her mind: necessary, necessary, necessary. He died the moment he turned that corner. He died the moment he decided to use an innocent little girl as cannon fodder. He died the moment he tried to threaten someone under Dr. Angela Ziegler's protection. If it hadn't been her bullet, it would have been Jack's, or Gabriel's.

"Since you asked, putting the final touches on the biotic rifle. Ana won't stop bugging me. Neither will Torbjorn," Angela stacked the papers up and placed them in a folder. "I'm not used to seeing you in here."

Jack's eyes twinkled, "You caught me, I hunted you down since you abandoned me for our morning run. Again."

"Oh." Well crap. Now she felt guilty. "About that."

"You don't have to explain," he patted her arm. "If you want me to shut up about it, I will. You're not going to offend me, I miss my running buddy." God dammit, now she did too. How was he so good with those baby blues? Sneaky bastard.

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you." Good lord he knew how to twist her heart. It wasn't that she was unhappy to see him. More like, it was far more simple if she avoided him.

Angela could feel in her heart he liked her. It was obvious, really. Did he break into her apartment in the early hours of the morning and accost her? No. In reality, feelings didn't need to be that transparent to be read.

Her mind went to Gabriel as Jack talked.

He was so.

So.

Animalistic.

Predatory.

In a brief flash of amusement, her mind conjured up a scene from a movie from decades past, called "Jurassic Park." Two children played a deadly game of hide-and-seek with Velociraptors in a kitchen. It was more accurate of her relationship with Gabriel Reyes than she cared to admit. Minus the part where she wanted to stand up and let him pounce on her.

She wondered what Gabriel would do if she pushed back. Would he panic if she grabbed him by the collar and took what she wanted? Clearly, he preferred being in the position of dominance.

Fuck.

Did she want him? Of course she did. She wanted that fire, a fire that lit up her soul and made her ache in ways she didn't think were possible.

She didn't want the aftermath. It only took one incident to create discord. If they - her cheeks colored at the thought - had sex, things would be different. Weren't things already different?

Sex. Sex with Gabriel Reyes. What would it be like? Gentle? Rough? Slow? Fast? He was certainly aggressive.

Angela didn't doubt his sexual proficiency. I mean, look at him. Clearly any virginity he had once possessed had been lost a long time ago. Women practically threw themselves at his feet in some uncomfortable display of reverence.

Picky, though. Or so she had overheard.

She wasn't sure. Angela had seen him working his charms before. At the bar, for example, "Overwatch groupies," as Lena liked to call them, tended to orbit around him like they were caught in his gravitational pull. They only found flight when he dismissed them; even then, they immediately found solace in Jack's gentle smile.

That was another thing she had to consider. If ... If something did take place, then what? What if he lost interest, what if she lost interest, what if it interfered with missions, work?

Angela shouldn't even entertain the thoughts. Nothing would happen. Nothing would ever happen, because Dr. Angela Ziegler is a professional, and professionals do not dally in such frivolous affairs.

Overwatch was not supposed to be this much passion. It was supposed to be research, bettering the human condition and solidifying her position as one of the top scientists of her generation. Enter Gabriel stage left.

"-He's doing a great job with the VSRS, just not as good as you would be doing."

Jack's hand on her thigh dragged her back to the conversation. He was seeking an emotion in her eyes, a reaction to his touch.

She had none.

Angela offered a small smile. She put her hand on his and squeezed. "I'll be back soon, Jack. I promise."

Realizing her rudeness, she focused her attention back on Jack. Their feelings toward one another weren't the same, but she adored him. The least she could do was give him her time when he asked for it.

They chatted for awhile longer until Angela excused herself back to her quarters. An energy remained in her room after Gabriel's visit, like an unfulfilled spirit lurking around corners and behind edges reminding her of what had, and had not, taken place. She stood in her bedroom door, remembering his curious eyes searching over her frazzled self.

Angela walked to her nightstand and pulled open the drawer.

" _I should have condoms in here,_ " she thought. " _It's practical. In case someone next door needs to ... borrow them._ "

Practical, she snorted. Whatever mental gymnastics you have to jump through, Ziegler.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her: Halloween was only a week away; she did not have a costume.

Not to be undone by Simon (or mocked by Overwatch at large), Angela changed into pajamas, picked up her laptop and started searching for "witch costumes."


	20. Blame It On The Booze

***Happy Halloween! I modeled her dress in this chapter after the one in the original picture with Torbjorn, not the one in-game, so I imagine it have a flowly mid-thigh skirt. Reviews/Follows/Favorites always appreciated, ENJOY!***

* * *

"I look ridiculous," Angela huffed.

"No! I think you look spooooky," Lena laughed and gave her a thumbs up. "It's a great costume!"

Angela stared at herself in the mirror, smoothing her hands down the black and orange dress. Lena wasn't wrong, it fit her very well. Maybe a bit too well. "You don't think the bust is a little ... low?"

"You worry too much," Amelie, dressed as a French maid, said from the couch. "If you don't flaunt it, what's the point in having it?"

"What you need," Lena said. "Is more wine, drunk confidence! Come on, look at me! I'm dressed as a girl who accidentally snorted heroine because she thought it was cocaine, and you want to know why? Because she had BLOODY BRILLIANT DANCE MOVES!"

Lena jumped up and started doing Mia Wallace's famous dance moves.

Angela laughed, taking a long swig. She'd need all the drunk confidence she could get tonight. The girls had agreed to convene at her apartment for drinks after they did trick-or-treating with the Overwatch families and before they went to the bar.

"Hey Ana," she said. "What do you think Jesse is going to dress up as?"

Cleopatra glared at her from the kitchen. "Why would I know?"

Amelie snorted, "Darling, he pants after you like a teenager that just discovered porn."

"And you don't discourage him!" Lena danced around her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she turned her nose away. "He's insufferable."

"Insufferably sexy, you mean," Angela wiggled her eyebrows. "Don't tell me you don't think that accent is positively delicious."

Lena and Amelie cackled with laughter at Ana's reddening face. "All we're saying is you don't have to take care of Fareeha tonight."

Ana's mouth dropped open. "What are you implying?!"

"Less talking, more drinking," Amelie giggled.

Two bottles later they were all properly tipsy and on their way to The Bandit. An electric energy filled their bones as they stepped into the thumping, dimly-lit bar adorned in fake spider webs and glowing lights. A thin mist coated the bottom of the bar, swirling and reflecting the light to create an eerie atmosphere. Two pirates darted to and fro behind the bar, shaking, stirring and mixing drinks for the crush of people. A DJ commanded a floor of dancing ghouls, goblins and monsters.

" _So this is what Simon meant, I feel like I'm back in college._ "

"Is it safe for us to be here?" Angela shouted to Amelie.

"Of course, dear," Amelie pointed out a few familiar faces. "They're all Overwatch employees, plus ones or vetted residents."

"Enough talkin', let's drink!" Lena grabbed her hand and hauled her to the bar. "Who ya goin' home with love? Jacky-poo?"

Startled, Angela opened her mouth and shut it a few times. "I plan on going home with myself, Lena."

"Stop it! I don't believe that for a second. You just wait 'n see, Ang, Halloween has a way of makin' crazy things happen." Lena waved the bartender over and ordered two Freaky Frights from Pete. Which, according to Lena, were excellent - just don't ask what's in them, she has no idea.

When the first sip hit her belly, Angela felt her mind relax. It was hard not to be infected by the wild atmosphere, the horrible mainstream music she couldn't help but bob her head to; she found herself half way through the drink before she knew it.

Lena had disappeared and was already taking the dance floor by storm.

"Where's everyone else?"

"Someone usually stakes out a spot, back corner I'd imagine. Right, see," Ana pointed across the bar. "There they are."

Angela made out Reinhardt and Torbjorn - she was somewhat shocked Reinhardt was there - towering over two tables. She followed Ana through the throngs of people, playing a tricky balancing game with her drink as she was jostled by the thick of people.

"Ze ladies of ze hour have arrived!" Reinhardt, dressed as a knight, lifted his drink and gave them a dazzling smile. "Ve are lucky to have such beautiful companions!"

"A knight again Reinhardt?" Ana teased. "When will you pick something else?"

"I've been told I'm not allowed to be Hasselhoff, and until zat day, a knight I vill remain!" He slammed his beer on the table in proclamation.

"And a viking cannot be vithout his knight!" Torbjorn trumpeted.

"Cheers to that!" Angela threw the rest of her drink back, letting the thumping bass vibrate her skin.

Simon bounded up holding a blood-red drink. "Dr. Ziegler, you made it!"

" _Has he always called me Dr. Ziegler?_ " For some reason, it sounded weird. He should not be addressing her so formally in a bar on Halloween. "Simon," she said. "Call me Angela, would you?"

"Thank goodness, I thought you'd never ask," Simon's eyes lit up. "Protocol and all that. Angela it is!"

"Hold on, I'll be right back," she shook her empty drink. "Can I get anyone anything?"

Apparently no one was drinking as fast as her, because everyone said no. " _Oops,_ " she snickered to herself on her way to Pete the wonderful bartender. One of the great things about being a girl was that everyone made room for you: Crowds of people parted like the Red Sea in her quest for another drink. " _Probably also has something to do with my boobs,_ " she peaked down. " _Screw it, Amelie was right, I look hot._ " She bent over to bar, succeeding in catching the attention of all eyes except Pete's.

"Why am I so bad at this?" She raised her hand and waved it in a futile attempt to catch the swamped pirate's notice.

She was momentarily distracted when a hand made its home on her hip; Angela was about to turn around and tell whoever had the balls to touch her to fuck off when a familiar voice greeted her.

"Hello gorgeous," Gabriel's hand was hidden behind his body as he leaned over her, not that they could be seen in this crowd regardless. "Nice costume."

The alcohol crept its way up the back of her neck in a steady march around her temples and over her eyes. She relished the numbness, it took away her inhibitions and suppressed her nerves. Those two pesky things, she thought to herself, had been far too involved lately.

She reflexively leaned into him, letting his hand smooth its way down her skirt. Devilish Angela wasn't going to shy away from the big bad monster. Not this time.

This.

This is what she'd been waiting for. Subconsciously, whether she said it out loud or not, every bit of makeup, every product in her hair, every curve of her dress was for him. And here he was.

Angela opened her eyes and found Gabriel staring down at her. "Boo."

A smile broke over his face, someone had a head start on him. He pulled her possessively into him, taking his time to appreciate her outfit from a higher vantage point. "Doc, you sound like you've already had a few."

"You sound like you haven't had enough," she purred. "What are you dressed as? Mexican McCree?"

"I thought the Swiss were supposed to be worldly," he pretended to act offended. "I'm a bandito, obviously."

Finally, she caught Pete's attention. "Two Freaky Frights, please," she gave Pete a wink and tossed him a tip.

Gabriel's hand played with the bottom of her skirt, "What if I don't want that?"

"We can't always get what we want," Angela grinned. "Sorry."

"Bullshit."

She smacked his hand off her thigh and turned her nose up, "Rude." With a turn, she and her Freaky Fright left him at the bar.

Gabriel was not sorry to see her go. That ass was fucking fantastic.

Angela was different tonight. More aggressive, more assertive. His eyes followed her like a carnivore watched its prey strut about. He didn't know where this attitude was coming from, but he wasn't complaining. He moved over to the table and took a cautious sip of the drink, a rough combination of ice, well vodka and some mixture of juices.

"McCree, you didn't dress up?" Ana asked.

McCree flicked the brim of his hat up. "Doll, I don't think I could get more dressed up if I tried."

"Oh ya, totally not interested," Amelie whispered in Angela's ear. "I bet you a pedicure they go home together tonight."

"I'm not drunk enough to take that bet," Angela took a drink. "Look at those two."

The beat of the music lulled her glazed eyes and entranced her ears; costumes of every shape and size made merriment in the festive atmosphere. It intoxicated her, sank into her pores and heightened her drunkenness. Jack, Gerard and everyone else eventually found the table, with groups coming and going from the bar to the dance floor and back again. Gabriel caught her every time she tried to sneak a glance at him until she stopped caring - liquid courage was a hell of a thing. " _I want to dance,_ " she thought.

"Gerard, do you dance?" She asked.

"No."

"That's too bad," Angela stood up and tapped Amelie on the shoulder. "I need a buddy, and I know a French girl can dance."

The mood was infectious. She danced with Lena, Amelie and Ana as if there was no one else in the room. She let the music possess her body and move her as it pleased; each turn, each twirl and each beat carried away pieces of her stress until nothing was left but brain stem enjoyment of loud sounds, bright colors and inebriation.

Suddenly, the music stopped. Confusion spread across faces on the dance floor as the DJ told people to make room. Lena clapped her hands and whooped, "Angela, you've never seen this, 'ave ya? Every Halloween there's a dance competition, and Ana wins every time. They started letting her go first because each person got compared to her, anyway."

"Wait what?" Angela only then realized Ana wasn't standing next to her anymore. "Ana dances?"

"She doesn't just dance," Amelie answered. "She mesmerizes."

A sultry melody began to play as tendrils of smoke took over the open space on the dance floor.

Gabriel grabbed Jesse's shirt as he was about to walk away. "You won't want to miss this." He'd finished the nasty concoction she bought him and switched to beer.

Ana sashayed into the circle, causing the mist to swirl around her ankles, and glided across the floor, arms moving sensually to the music. Angela watched in amazement at the way her body moved. Gold coins tied around her waist glittered and tinkled as her hips made lazy circles that had more than one man in the room dreaming of dirtier things. Her upper and lower body seemed to move independently with each dip and turn. Angela admired traditional Egyptian dance, it was captivating, she just had no idea Ana was apparently very, very good at it.

"Be still my heart," Jesse set his drink down. "I think I'm in love."

The room was commanded by her presence, utterly enraptured to the promises her hips made, the beckoning of her hands and the liquid movement of her silky skin. And Jesse needed to inform them all those hips were his. Whiskey courage fueling his already-daring soul, Jesse pushed onto the dance floor, caught one of her hands in his and twisted her into his arms.

"Quelle folie!" Amelie covered her mouth. Lena's head was moving in unsaid appreciation, "Good for him." Angela couldn't believe it. In what was probably the singular most impressively suave moment she'd ever witnessed, Jesse took hold of Ana like it was part of a routine they'd practiced a thousand times.

"Jesse!" Ana's other hand found its home on his shoulder as traditional Egyptian turned into guided waltz. "What the hell are you doing?"

He twisted her into another pirouette and then into his chest, "I'm like a man possessed," he chuckled. "I had to scoop ya up 'fore one of these boys got any ideas."

"You're embarrassing both of us," she said.

"That I am, doll, that I am."

They moved like one until the dance ended with a low dip and roar of applause. "Now, darlin', would you do me the kindness of lettin' me buy ya a drink?"

What a crazy American. "After that stunt, you owe me two," Ana said.

As quickly as the pair captivated the drunk onlookers, the spell was broken. Angela found a seat back at the table and watched dancers take turns trying to outdo Ana. A leg slid up against hers under the table as she was pouring herself a beer; her eyes snapped up to meet Gabriel's, accompanied by a mischievous smirk. Each point of contact between them sent electricity shooting through her body that coiled in her stomach in a quiet pulsing. She shifted her body so one leg could curl around his.

His expression said one thing: desire. And god, he wasn't the only one. If they could just get back to the bar, they could find a corner ... He could touch her again; no one would see, no one would know.

Angela jumped when Jack appeared next to her. "There you are."

"Jack!" Her feet lurched back under her chair while she took in his ghoulish appearance. "You look positively terrifying."

"I do not," he protested. "It's makeup. Fareeha and the other kids like to dress me up, it's hard to say no."

"Well if that isn't the cutest thing I've ever heard," Angela snatched his beer and took a swig. "Thank you boss."

"Actually," Jack took his beer back. "Each sip is a dance. You now owe me one."

She didn't even have to look at Gabriel to feel his gaze searing into the side of her face. Angela loved dancing, and if it made him a bit jealous, all the better. She offered Jack her hand to help her up, "Try and keep up, solider."

Jack was a better dancer than she realized, and soon they were laughing and dancing with abandon as the alcohol and music bled away the night. Each drink clouded her thoughts a little more than the last - she happily let the night's mood sweep her away.

That is, until she saw a woman draped over Gabriel's shoulder at the table, beaming like a rat that had found a shiny bauble. Her world careened to a nauseatingly violent stop; Gabriel didn't seem nearly as annoyed as she'd hope at the attention the scantily-clad woman was lavishing on him. Angela stumbled in her staring, spilling some of her drink on Jack's shirt. "Scheisse," she mumbled, looking for some kind of napkin. "I'm sorry, Jack." An ugly knot of jealousy erupted in her chest, spreading across her arms and legs like a heinous infection that threatened to consume her happiness.

"Woah," Jack wiped the liquid off as best he could. "It's fine, no worries. Ang, you look pale, are you ok?"

Her heart hurt. Why was he letting the woman touch him like that? He must know it would bothe-

Of course he knew. And that's why he was doing it.

The jealousy bubbled over into incensed anger. "I'm great. Fantastic, really." She left Jack and marched back to the table, glaring when Gabriel made a big show of taking the number the bimbo wrote on the napkin and tucking it in his shirt. Jackass.

Torbjorn interrupted her sulking, "Ang! We need a picture to send to Winston, since he couldn't make it. You're the last person I need."

"Good call," she agreed. Angela rounded the table and threw her hands up. "Happy Halloween!"

Reinhardt snapped a few pictures before deciding he'd found one that was sufficient.

She sat back down and searched for anything to say over the roar of music and voices. It was hard, sometimes, finding things to talk to Gabriel about. Especially when he looked like an enormous prick. "Gabriel, do you dance?"

If looks could kill. "No."

"Aren't Hispanics supposed to be good at dancing?" Gerard asked.

"Killing, cooking or dancing," Gabriel exaggerated dragging his thumb across his neck. "I'm better with the former."

"Do you talk about things that do not involve death?" Reinhardt frowned.

"First off, I'll talk about whatever the fuck I want," he snapped. "Second, yes. Death is usually more interesting."

Reinhardt took that as his cue to leave. It impressed Angela that a man of his size could be absorbed into the mass of people so easily.

"Lovely," Angela rolled her eyes. "Was that necessary?"

"Was his stupid question necessary?" Gabriel shot back.

"Right. Well on that less-than-pleasant note, I'm going to head back. Have a good rest of your evening." She wasn't going to sit around and let his mood sour hers, so she finished her drink and made her way to the doors. He always did that, the bullshit hot-and-cold routine. One moment he was groping her at the bar - not that she minded - and the next he was hitting on women to upset her, insulting Reinhardt and putting a damper on the whole mood. " _I guess they say Hispanics are hot-blooded for a reason,_ " she thought. Angela felt his eyes on her back and so badly wanted to turn around and flip him the bird. Fuck that. Fuck him.

The cool air felt wonderful on her face once she made it outside. How foolish she'd been, thinking enticing him was a good idea, letting him get under her skin, letting him dictate her moods. " _You know better, Ziegler,_ " she chastised herself. " _You know better._ "

Her phone said it was 12:35 a.m. The moon was bright, she decided, a walk back to Overwatch would calm her down.

"Why didn't I bring a coat?" Angela whined, rubbing her shoulders as the cold seeped into her skin. She'd never walked back to Overwatch from The Bandit, but if her sense of direction was right, a quick cut through the alley would pop her out on the main road. The backstreet's darkness quickly enveloped the tottering doctor. "Fuck!" she lost her footing and stumbled, reaching out for something to steady herself.

"Looks like someone's been overserved," a hand reached out to help her up.

Slurred alarm bells frantically chimed in her alcohol-logged brain. " _You do not know this man, you are drunk, be careful._ "

Angela tried to pull her arm away. "Please let me go," she said.

"Now what kind of gentleman would I be to let a drunk lady walk home by herself?" His fingers curled around her wrist. "Where's your house? I'll walk you home."

"No, that won't be nec-"

"Get your filthy fucking hands off her or I will remove them," Gabriel thundered over her shoulder.

The menace in his voice made her shiver. Where had he come from?

"Hey pal, why don't you fuck off, I'm helping the lady home."

Gabriel's fist cracked into his face, forcing the man to careen backward. "What the fuck," he shouted. "Fuck you bitch, you can have her," he booked it down the alley and disappeared around the corner.

"Oh my god, Gabe are you ok?" Angela ran her fingers over his hands feeling for breaks. "What are you doing here?"

Drunk women. Forever getting him into trouble. The fiery anger he'd watched carry her out of the bar had subsided into gentle worry. "I'm here because pissed off, grumpy women tend to get themselves hurt. You're welcome."

"I'm not mad," she crossed her arms over her chest. "I didn't feel like watching some broad rub herself all over you."

"Ahh, heh, you dance with Jack in my face and I'm not allowed to get a girl's number? That doesn't seem fair."

"Whatever. I'm going home."

He stepped in front of her to block her path. "What is this?"

"This is nothing," she replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Would you stop for one damn second," he dragged her into his arms. "Fuck, woman." Their faces were inches apart, neither willing to admit that the bickering was some sort of bizarre foreplay.

"You're annoying," Angela's hands snaked up his shoulders.

"You're not so bad yourself," his voice was mocking, like he was daring her to taste the lips hovering above her own.

" _Screw it,_ " she crashed her mouth into his. " _I'll blame it on the booze._ "

The cold of the night dissipated, and there was only her mouth on his, and his on hers, and the impatient urgency of their hands on each other's bodies.

He wasted no time maneuvering her against the wall as he hauled her legs up and around his waist. Alley be damned, all that mattered was the way his hips fit against hers, the delicious feeling of hardness pressing against her inner thigh and the positively intoxicating way his tongue moved over hers. He turned his attentions to her neck, delighting in the moans she made each time he nipped and sucked at her skin.

"Gabr-" Angela let out a groan when his teeth closed around her earlobe; her world spun from alcohol and pleasure until all she could do to anchor herself was cling to his body.

Primal lust raged around them, an inferno so hot it melted away the cold of the night in a blaze she was sure was going to consume them both. Oh, how she wanted to be consumed, she'd gladly give herself to him for the promise of a release they both desperately needed.

They pulled apart, gasping, flushed and so, so alive.

"If you wanted to kiss me," Gabriel panted. "All you had to do was ask."

"I could go back to my apartment and you could pretend to break in and accost me again," Angela retorted.

"Ha. Ha," Gabriel grinned at her squeak when he pinched her thigh. "Keep in mind who's in the compromising position here, doc."

She found his lips with hers, tired of talking. "Let's go back."

Getting back to her room was a blur of kisses, touching and heavy breathing. They crashed into her apartment in a flurry of needy contact that led them tumbling onto her bed. Costume parts were scattered in their pursuit of more skin. Hitched breath came out in a deep groan when her hands found their way under his shirt and greedily explored the chest she knew so well.

"I've wanted to touch you like this," he growled. "For months." Gabriel flipped them over so he was straddling her and sat up and pulled the rest of his shirt off before descending back down to the body he could scarcely pry himself away from. Her skin was so soft under his rough hands, he couldn't get enough. Everything about her drove him wild: her scent, that perfect ponytail of stunning blonde hair, the striking blue of her eyes, the innocent way the VSRS hugged each curve of her body. And here she was, underneath him and practically begging to be taken.

"Gabriel," she moaned out.

Angela's mind was a whirlwind of emotions, each crashing over the other until she felt like she was drowning in a sea of impulses running roughshod over her senses.

Her fingers danced light traces on his pants before one hand smoothed itself across his erection.

"Ang," he said breathlessly. "Don't tease me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, smoothing her thumb back and forth with just enough pressure to make his mind go blank.

He trapped her hands above her head with one hand, using the other to roughly pull her top down enough to expose a lacy bra. "White," he laughed. "How innocent are you?"

"Shut up," she suddenly felt self-conscious and tried to squirm away from his gaze.

He dipped his head down to trail kisses along her breasts. "You're fucking stunning," he murmured.

She arched into him and wrapped her legs over his hips, molding their bodies together and dragging her nails across his back; his small gasps drove her insane - she wanted to know how loud she could make him. Their lips found each other again and it was everything she ever could have imagined and more. Heat pulsed deep in her gut, twisting through her insides at a fever pitch that rolled over her in waves of pleasure.

"I need you inside me," she gasped out.

Gabriel almost lost it. She writhed underneath him, eyes hooded and pupils dilated with desire. He fumbled with his belt while kissing along the hollow of her throat, "Condoms?"

Shit. She forgot to get condoms. Angela hardly cared, she was desperate for him to fill her, and consequences could wait for the morning. "I don't care," she purred. "Get your damn pants off."

His mind was hazy with lust; he was powerless to say no to a woman demanding for him to fuck her. "Where's that buzzing coming from?" She whined.

"What buzzing?"

But there it was. Somehow it had grown loud enough to be properly annoying. "God dammit." Gabriel rolled off her and picked up the pager going crazy in his pants pocket. "Hell better have frozen over or I swear to G-"

Angela propped herself up on her elbows when Gabriel stopped talking. "What's wrong?"

The look in his eyes worried her. "Check your pager. Now."

"Ok," she crawled over to the other side of the bed and found her pager was buzzing wildly, too. The message froze her heart: "Amelie abducted, civilian casualties. All squad Overwatch personnel report to instructed search teams."

His eyes reflected the fear in hers. "Talon," he said grimly.


	21. Let's Talk

A piece of Overwatch died that Halloween.

It was too close. Too violating. They were supposed to be the best of the best. If they couldn't protect themselves, how could they be trusted to protect the world?

Five teams of Overwatch's best were dispatched within 30 minutes of the abduction. They searched through the night for any trail, intelligence or chatter that could lead them in the right direction. There was nothing to find.

Signature markings pointed at Talon being the perpetrator, but that was all there was. The kidnapping must have been planned meticulously for Talon agents to get so close to Overwatch on such a secure night.

To be expected, Gerard was distraught at Amelie's abduction. Overwatch officials wouldn't let him help in the search effort because of his compromised emotional state, to which he responded by punching one in the face and being placed on probation and confined to his quarters in the worry there was a second hit placed on him. The chances of that were slim, though. Talon wasn't stupid: If it couldn't get to Gerard, it would go after the next best thing.

A depressed mood tainted the air in Overwatch. Amelie's absence permeated every room, every hallway and every building. Never in its years of service had Overwatch been so thoroughly beaten so close to home.

They kept a lid on the abduction as best they could; leaks still managed to find their way to the media.

"OVERWATCH SENIOR AGENT KIDNAPPED!"

"OVERSERVED OVERWATCH CAN'T PROTECT ITSELF"

"DRUNK ON THE JOB? OVERWATCH AGENT ABDUCTED"

"DRUNKWATCH DUPED BY TERRORISTS?"

The headlines went on and on. Criticism descended like an angry storm for a lack of security, lack of protocol, accusations of wasted international funding on parties, tribunals to oversee Overwatch operations - it was endless.

As the days neared almost two weeks, the number of search teams dwindled to one dedicated team. Others were returned to their regular duties, even if nothing was normal anymore. Paranoia made the weak-willed particularly finicky, and so additional security measures were put in place that only succeeded in making people feel better while in practice bogging down the efficiency of the system.

Amelie's kidnapping wasn't the only thing that night that sent their world spinning off-kilter: McCree and Ana had quite publicly made out at The Bandit, something neither of them were going to live down anytime soon (not that McCree was embarrassed, on the contrary, he was rather pleased with himself).

Their public encounter helped steer gossip away from the poor job Gabriel and Angela did of sneaking back to her room, especially when the sneaking only consisted of walking into Overwatch five minutes apart and using different elevators.

Angela didn't exactly regret it, but she was shocked at her drunken disregard for safety. No condom? What the hell was she thinking? She didn't know if he was clean and she wasn't on another form of birth control. In the moment, though, she hadn't cared. Not one damn bit. She would have let Gabriel do whatever he wanted and enjoyed it. They'd leaped so far over the professional line she could hardly see it anymore. How were they supposed to act normal around each other? She could take Ana's route and be so frosty you'd think McCree had murdered someone she cared about. No, that wouldn't work. Angela didn't possess the snappy spirit Ana did.

The even bigger problem? She wanted him more than ever. It was like Angela became an addict overnight - she'd had one little taste, and now all she could think about was getting more.

It felt wrong spending time agonizing about her problems when Amelie was somewhere out there in Talon's clutches. No ransom, exchange for Talon operatives or other form of communication had been received.

On the R&D side, Torbjorn was putting the final touches on the prototype rifle for Ana. Winston was working on something he'd only refer to as a "Barrier Projector," and seemed very enthusiastic about it. That enthusiasm, Lena had explained, translated into an unhealthy uptick in peanut butter intake, so much so that an additional shipment had to be put in just for him.

She glanced at her phone for what felt like the 60th time in a minute, willing the screen to light up with some sort of response. She'd sent a text to Gabriel a few minutes prior asking if they could talk. Their situation needed to be resolved amicably, the stodgier part of her brain reasoned, with a professional talk about boundaries and space. Angela acknowledged her attraction to him, but she wasn't an animal, dammit. She wasn't dictated entirely by her instinctual wants.

"Ok."

The two words glowed bright on her phone screen. Her palms started to sweat. What if this was a bad idea? He wasn't much of a talker and she didn't want to pick a fight. Shit.

"Thanks. Are you here? Can you come by my place?" It appeared to be the best location, at least it was the most private place she could think of.

"Ok."

Her brows furrowed. The blunt replies annoyed her. Ok? That's it?

She padded to her bedroom and threw on a sweater. The neatly made bed gave her pause. Images flashed through her mind: a witch's hat tossed haphazardly onto the floor, the jingle of a belt being undone, her moans at his ministrations.

Maybe asking him to talk in her apartment was a bad idea.

No. Don't be ridiculous. Angela shook her head and sighed. "I am a grown woman," she muttered to herself. "I am perfectly capable of having a civilized conversation in my own home."

The nagging feeling that she'd futilely tried to reassure herself like that before tugged at her confidence.

Her doorbell's ring dropped a heavy weight in her gut. Anxiety flapped its ugly wings as she unlocked the door. "That was fast."

"Hi to you too," Gabriel stared down at her before nodding at the door. "Are you going to let me in, or are we having this conversation in the doorway?"

"Right," she stepped aside to let him in, mug of tea held protectively against her chest. "Thanks for coming."

"I wasn't going to turn down an invitation into your apartment," he walked past her. "It smells like Christmas in here."

"Oh, it's getting close to December, I like to have candles lit in the winter." Angela shut the door and tucked her phone in her pocket.

Gabriel paused for a moment prior to taking a seat on her couch; she wondered if he was thinking about the last time he'd been here. He pulled his beanie off, tossed it on the coffee table and sank into the couch, rubbing his face with his thumbs as he sank into the cushion.

"Can I get you anything?" Angela asked.

"No."

She hesitated, "Are you upset?"

He let out a grunt. "Angela, I'm busy. What do you want to talk about?"

"I just thought we should talk about what happened on Halloween," her voice sounded about as confident as she felt. "I think there's some unfinished business."

His eyes opened to look at her, "I'd agree with that."

" _Come on Ziegler, say what you have to say,_ " she gritted her teeth. "It would be best, in my opinion, if we found a way to put the whole thing behind us. It's been an unwanted distraction for me that I would like to solve."

Gabriel almost laughed after he realized she was being serious. "Cariño, there's only one way to fix our, as you imply, 'problem.'"

"Oh?" Angela took a sip of her tea. "If you have a solution I'm all ears."

His eyes held her eyes until he turned to her bedroom door. "We have sex." He did laugh when she choked on her tea. Her face was so expressive, he never had trouble figuring out what she was thinking. It was actually pretty damn cute.

Angela was speechless. She stared at him for a couple seconds, after which her brain reminded her eyelids to blink. "Excuse me?"

"You know," his eyes twinkled at her discomfort. "Relieve the tension. That doesn't go away on its own. Personally, I'm willing to volunteer as many times as necessary."

"What?!" Angela's face tinged a deeper shade of red. "Wha- I don't even, that's not even remotely a possibility. How on earth do you think that would solve anything?"

"For a doctor you're pretty stupid sometimes," Gabriel said as he stood up. "See," he walked around the coffee table, pried the mug out of her hands and set it down. "People don't stop wanting each other just because the rule book says it's not allowed." His hand wove around her neck to tug playfully at her ponytail. "We're not walking backward after that night. If Amelie hadn't been kidnapped, we would have had sex, Angela. So, you see," his voice had dropped to just above a whisper. "We're either going to get it out of the way early, or fester around each other until we can't take it anymore. Personally, I don't like waiting."

Angela's heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. "If Amelie hadn't been kidnapped? Don't make it sound like an inconvenience!"

He scoffed and walked away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. "What am I going to do? Sit around all day looking sad?" He pushed back. "That's not going to do shit. We're all busting our asses to find her, Angela. I'm only stating facts, and the fact is that if Talon hadn't taken her, we would have had sex, and you would have loved every second of it."

This had obviously been a terrible idea. Angela frowned and gestured at the door, regretting immensely the last five minutes. "You can go."

"You're the one who asked me to come up here for a private chat," Gabriel snapped. "And now you're mad because you got exactly what you asked for? Don't forget that you are the one that kissed me, you are the one that invited me back and you are the one that said you wanted to fuck. Don't project your guilt onto me like I did something wrong."

He was right, and she knew it. It wasn't fair of her to pin her actions on him, as much as she loathed to admit it. "I don't regret it, I just, I'm sorry. I don't know why I thought talking would be a good idea. This was a waste of time."

Gabriel had never had so much trouble getting a girl to sleep with him, or maybe he'd never stayed interested for this long. And yet here she was, unsure, flighty, frustrating and sexy as hell. Striding back to her, he grabbed her face and pulled her into a kiss.

His lips were warm on hers; before she knew it her hands were tugging him forward.

Angela didn't bother pulling away because honestly? This is what she wanted. Her bravado was a farce to make herself feel like she had even one ounce of self-control around him. She was powerless against her desire, utterly defeated by one of life's most basic needs.

A hand on her lower back urged their bodies closer as she lost herself in the breathy kiss. She wanted more, always more, and that scared her. This was all wrong, finding comfort in the arms of a teammate while others were frantically searching for another, but it was pointless to try and fight it. The addiction permeated her body and poisoned her brain. It demanded more, always more, and what little willpower she had left was being overrun.

She moaned when he slipped a hand under her sweatshirt to feel her warm skin and trace a finger along the underwire of her bra. They stumbled and the backs of his knees hit the couch, sending them tumbling onto the cushions in a heady storm of impulse.

Angela pressed herself into to him, fingers intoxicated by the curves of his arms and shoulders. "How many muscles do you have?" She said, temporarily distracted by his biceps.

"Shh, less talking," Gabriel mumbled, far too occupied carving a path of kisses across her collarbone to care. His body felt like a spring wound so tight it could explode at any moment. He ground his hips into hers to the sound of her delighted humming, relishing in the way her body responded to his.

" _Fuck,_ " he thought to himself. " _I have to go."_ What a cruel joke the world was playing on him: a hot woman straddling him and he had to go save the world or some bullshit. If there was a God, he was a real piece of shit.

"Angela," he said breathlessly. "As much as I would love to stay longer and work out our issues, there's shit to do."

Clarity washed over her like a cold bucket of water. How'd she go from putting her foot down to humping him like a 15 year old? "I, uh, yes of course," she stammered.

They detangled themselves and Gabriel took a moment to adjust himself before walking to the door. "When are you coming back to active duty?"

Active duty meant guns. She didn't feel comfortable telling him she wasn't able to sleep through the night because of nightmares. "Soon I'm sure," she said dismissively. "I'm needed in the labs."

"Ahuh," he smirked as he opened the door. "Don't you worry about condoms, by the way, I'll make sure to bring some next time you want to talk."

The door swung shut to her shocked expression; she heard him laughing down the hallway like some kind of maniac.

* * *

Searingly bright lights blinded her eyes.

She was cold. So cold. Her mind was heavy, like someone was smothering it with a blanket.

" _Where am I?_ "

Her body hurt. It hurt in her bones, in her marrow and tendons.

Why was she having so much trouble remembering what happened? And there was this horrible metallic taste in her mouth, what was that? Every thought she had felt like it was being absorbed into a formless mass of confusion taking over her brain; the harder she tried to focus, the foggier her thoughts became.

Amelie heard a sound, a door maybe? She attempted to turn toward the noise, and realized her head was restrained.

A body moved over her and obscured part of the lights. "Who are you?" came out as a hoarse croak and got no reply from the person.

She winced when something pinched her arm.

Darkness enveloped her.


	22. Stories Begin

***Thanks for being patient, guys. It's been a crazy few weeks of being very ill, covering the election and some wedding fun leading into holiday madness (happy belated Thanksgiving and merry Christmas!). Hope you enjoy, and don't worry, if it takes me a little longer to post, I haven't gone anywhere! Always feel free to send me a PM and I'll let you know what to expect on time frames. I WILL NOW START REGULARLY UPDATING MY AUTHOR PAGE TO KEEP EVERYONE ABREAST OF MY SCHEDULE.***

* * *

Nothing.

Gabriel scanned over the comms chatter for the fourth time - more out of boredom than an expectation of something he missed.

Gerard pushed away from the table and threw the papers in frustration, "This is pointless." He started when Gabriel stepped in front of him, arms folded. "Where ya going, Gerard?"

"Out."

A few comms techs cast nervous glances their way.

"Hey," Gabriel blocked his path when he tried to step around him. "Where are you going?"

Gerard's eyes narrowed. "You're not my fucking nanny, move."

This wasn't the first time the techs had watched a similar altercation. Gerard was on permanent lock down until Amelie was recovered, and after three attempts to leave Overwatch HQ, he received the privilege of having a full-time buddy.

Gabriel was an instant candidate, mainly because Gerard knew he'd lose any fight he tried to pick.

"Don't turn this into a thing, man." He was not in the mood to deal with any stupid bullshit. He felt bad for the guy, sure, but that patience was starting to wear thin.

"I'm not going anywhere," Gerard growled.

"Going to take a piss or something? Fine, I'll make sure the perimeter guards keep a close watch."

He shoved past Gabriel and stalked out of the room. Gabriel followed a few feet behind until they were almost to the main lobby; he'd never loved someone enough to get this bent out of shape at losing them, so he was having a hard time finding an ever-flowing well of patience. "I wouldn't have to stalk you when you take a shit if you'd stop trying to play Superman, you know."

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" Gerard whirled around. "Doesn't feel like anyone's doing much of anything, and I have to sit in a room with techs that haven't showered for a week pouring over useless data while Talon is doing who knows what to my wife."

"You're supposed to stop causing more trouble than we're already dealing with."

Just then, one of the techs darted out of the room, panting and waving a hand. "Come," he huffed. "I think we've got something we didn't notice before."

Gerard was past Gabriel and through the door before he'd had a chance to process the tech's words.

Back in the room, the group huddled over a computer screen displaying a series of unintelligible code. "There," the tech tapped on the screen. "It's not much, but it's something. We already know someone must have helped them infiltrate the Halloween party, and I think this will lead us to who it was."

"How soon?" Gerard's tone was clipped.

"We should have something to you by the end of the day."

* * *

The stock of the rifle pressed into Ana's shoulder as she leaned into the scope.

"You're sure zis isn't going to hurt?"

Reinhardt shifted from foot to foot, somehow managing to look nervous for such an enormous figure.

"It vill be fine!" Torbjorn nodded emphatically. "Ana, fire!"

The poison-tipped bullet ripped down the firing lane into his left thigh. A moment of silence filled the range, Reinhardt looked down quizzically and plucked the dart out, "Zat's i-aghhh." He stumbled and clutched his leg, falling to his knees with another wheeze.

Torbjorn looked positively gleeful. "She's a beaut! Vorking just like I hoped. Fire another!"

Ana shook her head, feeling a twang of pity. "Hold still, Rein, you'll feel better in a moment."

The second dart nailed Reinhardt in the shoulder. "Giftzwerg!" He hollered a string of obscenities and threw the dart to the ground. Anger launching him to his feet, Reinhardt stormed toward Torbjorn. "Vat is ze matter vith you?"

"Oh, such potential!" He didn't notice the behemoth over him until Reinhardt grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him up to eye-level. "Ho ho, don't be so angry, it's just a little prick. Do ya feel better?"

Reinhardt frowned, realizing that he did, in fact, feel better. He set the dwarf down and folded his arms. "Make it sting less next time."

"Thanks for being our test dummy," Ana patted his shoulder. "No one else was willing to volunteer."

"I zee vhy," he grumbled.

* * *

Lena prowled around Slipstream, inspecting its smoothed edges and polished curves. She'd been waiting so patiently, and now that the bosses on high had decreed her worthy of piloting it for its first test run (as they obviously should have months ago) she couldn't take her eyes off of it.

Quietly, almost intimately, Lena reached up and touched the plane's nose. "Soon, love, we'll see just what you can do," she whispered.

"I've never seen Lena Oxton so quiet in my life," Winston remarked.

"Heya!" Lena barked and pointed at him. "I'm in love! She's sensational, perfect, magnificent - and she's all mine."

She turned back to the plane and blew it a kiss, "You just wait, we're gonna be the real dream team."

"Ahem," Winston motioned at the door. "I thought you'd like to know the communications technicians think they have found a clue about Talon. I know it has been hard on you."

Her happiness was washed away by the chill creeping down her spine. Lena had been doing her best to keep her mind off Amelie's abduction. Feeling down wasn't something she did well.

"Right. Good news is better than nothin' I guess."

* * *

He'd always had a soft spot for Vivi's Adventure, maybe because he defeated every challenger who tried to beat his time record, or maybe because he secretly liked the whimsical silliness of it all.

The kid was good - really good - but he was about two seconds behind the record. There was no way he could make up that time. Genji leaned against the wall, watching sweat bead on the boy's brow as he, too, realized he was going to fail.

"Muri!" The boy hissed and smacked the top of the arcade game. He has been trying to beat Genji's score all week. "The machine has done nothing to you," Genji chided. "Do not harm it. You are improving."

"Arigatou," he mumbled. "How did you get so good?"

"Success, as with anything, requires much practice," Genji replied. "You should not give up yet."

The boy's faced turned into a determined smile. He grabbed his bag and scurried to the main doors, "I'll keep practicing, and beat you some day!" He flung open the door and barreled into a man on the other side. "Sumimasen," the kid gasped, as he stared up at the scowling man.

"I should have guessed you would be here," Hanzo frowned. The boy cast Genji a nervous glance and darted out the door.

"For someone who says they are so busy, you spend a lot of time chasing after me."

"You will lead the clan by my side, as our father demanded. Now, come with me, we have work to do."

"Kuso," Genji sighed and stepped away from the game. "That is not a path I care to walk, brother." He turned to the scowling face, arms folded, glaring eyes judging him from the arcade entrance. "Why have you come here? To scare these people?"

A strained hush fell over the arcade floor, broken only by the cheerful sounds of video games left unattended. Gamers shifted nervously, none daring to move for fear of drawing Hanzo's ire.

His peace ruined, Genji stalked toward the door to face his older brother. "Just because you chose to obey father's desires, does not mean I have to. I will lead the life I choose, free from whatever demons seem to haunt you so faithfully." He shoved past Hanzo's shoulder into Hanamura's sunlight.

"You will never amount to anything!" Hanzo shouted. "Do not turn your back on me."

"We shall see, brother."

The fight was drawing ever closer. Two dragons coiling tighter and tighter until one was sure to be strangled from life.

* * *

With a resounding crash, her fist crunched through the hole her particle cannon had ripped in the Omnic's chest and ripped out the sparking cords inside. The red of its hideous cyclops eye flickered and died. The mechanical monster crumpled to the ground.

"Just like in training. Visualize, then execute." Zarya slung the cannon over her shoulder and grinned at the heap of metal at her feet. One less Omnic would always put a smile on her face.

There was, however, always more work to do. She gave its head a kick for good measure and slogged her way back through the snow to her snowmobile, started it up and headed to camp. The wind nipped at her skin in a desperate attempt to chill her - that had not worked for many years. These moments were some of the few times Zarya had to admire the beauty of her homeland. Flying over the snow, the trees passed her in a blur encased by towering mountains. It would be an almost perfect landscape, if not for the Omnic corpses littering the snow.

Zarya did not regret the life she chose: abandoning fame and fortune to come home and protect the people she loved most dearly. Omnics had been a threat her entire life, a constant menace lurking behind every snow drift and tree. She knew she never would have been able to forgive herself if something had happened to her village, to her people, while she was busy obtaining glory.

There had been whispers that Overwatch was looking her way, intrigued by the strength and stamina of one of Russia's best soldiers. Zarya did not care. She had no interest in being a puppet for the United Nations. The United States had no love for Russia, and it had no love for the U.S. Giving herself over to an organization like that would be a betrayal.

And regardless, Russia could not afford to have her sent elsewhere. The majority of the Omnic war had been quelled across the world, but, much like the Russian people, their Omnics were particularly stubborn.

The smell of cabbage pierogis filled her nose and brought her out of her thoughts. Zarya brought the snowmobile to a halt and hopped off, swinging the particle cannon around like it was a baseball bat.

"Aleksandra!" A man ducked out from a tent and plodded his way over to her. "Patrol report?"

"Chetvero pogibshikh," she replied. "They seemed distracted, like they were detached from central command and were wandering."

"Otlichno, otlichno. I will pass the information on," he replied. "Come inside and get warm, we just finished cooking."

"Ha!" Zarya laughed. "You will have to start cooking more, I think."

* * *

Bullets flew all around her as the night was illuminated by a red explosion.

She screamed and fell to the ground. Rocks and debris sliced into her skin, black smoke threatened to consume her.

"Where are you?" Angela shouted desperately. The girl had just been there a moment before. She looked so small and so scared, Angela had to find her.

"Hello?"

The fighting raged as she crawled over the ground, "Hello, can you hear me?"

A cry echoed out from her left, causing Angela to scramble up and bolt through the chaos. A bullet ricocheted off a beam next to her and sliced across her arm; the pain registered somewhere in her brain overpowered by her frantic need to save the girl.

"Help! I'm so scared."

"I'm coming!"

"I see you, hold on," Angela finally spotted the girl trapped under some rubble from the partially-collapsed building. "I've got you, you're alright," she cooed to the crying child. "My name is Doctor Angela Ziegler, I'm here to help."

The girl stared up at her with a tear-streaked face, lower lip trembling in terror. "Where is my mommy? I'm so scared."

"We'll find her, I'll protect you," Angela promised. "Let's get you out of there, ok?"

She took the child's hand and helped pry her out of the wreckage and into her arms. The girl clung so tightly to Angela she worried her ribs would crack. "Shh, it's ok. It's ok. Don't look up, ok, and don't let go of me."

Finding her footing was hard, but Angela made steady progress in the direction she hoped help was. Chaos screamed around her, where was everyone?

"Look out!" The child's scream filled Angela with horror. The man lurched out of nowhere, gun aimed at her chest.

The sound of the gun hid her screams as blood erupted from his chest. He collapsed, unseeing eyes staring into her.

"Monster! Monster!" The child screeched.

"No no, no. I had to protect you," Angela cried. She crushed her into her chest in a desperate attempt to get her to stop screaming. The girl dissolved to dust in her arms, whipped away by the roaring wind that was so deafening it forced Angela to her knees. "MONSTER!" Echoed all around her, a howling gale of judgement.

"You killed me."

Through tear-stained eyes Angela looked up at the man she had just killed. He raised a bloody finger at her, "You murdered me."

"I didn't," she wailed. "You were going to hurt her!"

He dragged himself toward her, "I am dead because of you."

"Murderer."

"Killer."

"Monster."

She shrieked as his arm reached for her face and lashed out with her staff.

Her bedside lamp smashed into the ground, glass flying over the floor. Angela bolted upright, the scream was still caught in her throat. " _It was just a nightmare,_ " she thought. Her heart thumped a mile a minute in her chest. " _You're ok, you're awake._ "

The clock displayed 3:13 a.m. She'd only gone to bed three hours ago.

She could still hear his voice, see his bloody arm reaching for her, and feel the rocks grating into her skin. Angela shivered and curled back into her sheets. "Please stop," she whimpered.


	23. You Should Stay

He was seen entering the apartment complex 30 minutes prior to their arrival.

He was about to have a really fucking bad time.

There wasn't much of a way for them to avoid headlines while extracting the guy from his home, so they weren't going to try to.

Easing open the front door, Jack stepped into the lobby's fluorescent glow. No person was stationed at the front desk this late at night - not in a cheap complex like this one. It had always fascinated him, the disparity in wealth around Overwatch headquarters. Sprinklings of money mixed with spatterings of poverty created drastic block-by-block changes in quality of life. Houses worth well into the millions were a five-minute walk away.

But that wasn't where they were going. Right now, they were going up.

"What floor?" Gabriel punched the elevator button.

"Twelve," Jack confirmed. "Not a lot of reports of movement. If we're lucky, we can drag this piece of shit out without much fuss."

Gabriel snorted, "We're never lucky."

The elevator doors creaked open, as if protesting years of neglect and a lack of WD-40. "We could take the stairs," Jack suggested.

"And miss the chance of plummeting to my death in a small metal box with you? Fuck no," Gabriel smacked his back. "Come on, I feel like you never want to spend time with me anymore. Was it something I said?"

"Shut the fuck up, Gabe."

The doors groaned to a close, muffling the sound of his cackle.

Gabriel wondered if the fuck could hear the elevator doors opening on his floor. He hoped so, the game of cat and mouse was one of his favorites; the cat stalking ever forward as the mouse hunkers into a hiding place, hoping desperately that the monster passes by unaware.

"Point's all yours, Jack."

"Roger."

They made steady progress down the long, musty hallway. It had obviously seen many years of wear and tear. Yellow stains crept along the walls, paint fought to remove itself from doorframes and a suspiciously black stain had nestled itself into one of the corners of the carpet.

Jack motioned to his right at an off-green door with the numbers "1215" nailed on. Unless he had jumped out the window – and comms was indicating no exterior movement – the man of the hour was inside pissing his damn pants.

If he wasn't, he had no idea what was in store for him.

Gabriel switched the safety off, shouldered his gun and let the familiar rush of adrenaline wash over him.

The door barely resisted under Jack's steel-tipped boot. Wood splintered and hinges buckled as the pair barreled through the door, one scanning left and the other right.

Trash dominated the apartment's modest floor plan. Empty McDonald's wrappers, Arby's milkshakes and an unsettlingly large amount of used tissue boxes greeted them. He peeled off into the kitchen, shouting the all-clear to Jack.

Jack's reply was clipped, like he was trying to hold back a gag. "Living room is clear."

Place was a real dump, that's for sure. Gabriel wrinkled his nose and pulled a scarf over his nose and mouth, "What the fuck is that smell?"

"Human depravity," Jack grimaced. "There's no way he's hiding under all this garbage."

There was only one place he could be hiding.

A sliver of light spilled under the bathroom door. Jack would have laughed if he didn't feel a bit bad for the poor sap hiding away in what he suspected was a literal shit hole.

"Have transport ready at the back entrance, we'll be down in a couple minutes," Gabriel radioed out. "So, you want to go get him, or do I get to?"

Jack took a step back, "You were the excited one."

Gabriel kicked aside the empty PBR cans scattered across the floor and made his way over to the bathroom. "Hola, hombre," he said. "We know you're in there, and I think you know who we are. Why don't you make this easy so we don't have to break the door down and beat the shit out of you?"

He could feel Jack rolling his eyes behind him.

"Si? You didn't shoot yourself, did you?"

Just as he went to reach for the door, a blast erupted from behind the bathroom door. Jack's hand hauled him out of the way of the bowling ball-size hole gracing the wall.

"You stupid piece of shit," Gabriel yelled. "I'm alright, I'm alright," he waved his hand at Jack, unclipped a flashbang and tossed it through the hole in the door. "Cover!"

Blinding light illuminated the apartment, followed by a scream and another round of gunfire.

They charged into the bathroom, Gabriel cracking the man's chin with his gun and Jack collapsing onto his knees. The sawed-off shotgun clattered to the floor.

He fought desperately against them, but a blinded man was no match against over 400 pounds of chemically-enhanced muscle.

Screams turned into whimpers. It always amazed Gabriel how quickly humans switched from fight to flight, or in this case, fight to please-stop-hurting-me. He pulled the man into a standing position to get a better look at him. Middle aged, balding, fat. Amelie was gone because of this waste of space?

Gabriel was half tempted to see how far he could shove his fist down his throat.

"Is your name Robert Dunst?" Jack's question brought Gabriel out of his violent musings.

"I can't see! I'm blind!"

"Is your name Robert Dunst?" Jack repeated.

"I'm fucking blind, what did you do to me?"

Jack grabbed him by the jaw and twisted his face around. "It's temporary. You'll have your sight back in about five hours. I'll ask you one more time. Is your name Robert Dunst?"

"Who … Who are you?"

"For fuck's sake," Gabriel shouted. "If you don't answer his question in the next two seconds I'll make sure you're blind for the rest of your miserable life."

"Yes!" Dunst sobbed. "Yes, I'm Robert Dunst. Please don't hurt me."

"Now it's "please don't hurt me"? I distinctly remember being shot at about three minutes ago," Gabriel walked into the living room and pinged comms. "We've got him."

Jack's blood boiled. He wasn't Talon, but he was the reason they'd been able to get into the Halloween party and take Amelie. "By the authority of Overwatch and the United Nations, you are under arrest for collaborating with known terrorists. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you."

Dunst's head hung low. Tears streamed from his eyes.

"Ok. I have to ask," Gabriel started. He turned around to face Dunst, making a show of waving his hand in front of Dunst's face. "Why'd you do it? What did Amelie ever do to you?"

"Fuck you."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, "Why do they do that, do you think, Jack? Act like tough shit, cry when they're hurt and then try and be all tough again?"

"Let's just get him out of here, Gabe."

"No I'm serious. I think it's interesting. He can't see shit, he's crying like a baby and he still thinks he can say 'Fuck you'?"

Dunst hurled a string of curse words and spit at him.

The blow buckled his knees, which cracked painfully on the floor.

"You said you wouldn't hurt me!" Dunst wailed.

"I never said I wouldn't."

The punch crunched into the man's soft stomach and sent him crumpling to the floor.

"And now I have to drag him," Jack huffed. "Thanks, Gabe."

They took the elevator back down with the sack of man at their feet. A silence lingered between them. After all that searching, Dunst was the first real lead they had on finding Amelie. Gerard needed something hopeful - anything hopeful - to hold on to. Not that anyone actually wanted to touch Dunst, but he'd have to do.

Overwatch forces met them at the back entrance of the complex without much fuss. Gabriel had a hunch this wasn't the first time someone had been dragged out of the building and thrown in the back of a van.

He let his eyes slide shut to the rumbling of the van on its way back to base. There wouldn't be a lot of time for him to relax between now and information extraction.

"Crap."

Jack's voice roused him from his nap. "What's wrong?"

He followed Jack's finger to see a visibly irate Gerard standing on the other side of Overwatch's gates.

"How the hell does he know what's going on?" Jack radioed. "Someone get him out of here. Now!"

The van rumbled through the check point and crawled to a stop so Jack could get out. "I'll deal with him, you get Dunst into processing."

"Roger," Gabriel closed the door behind Jack and signaled for the driver to keep going. This was one of the rare times when Gabriel was relieved he was the one doing the paperwork; furious Gerard was not someone he had the energy or patience to deal with.

* * *

Her pager's hum vibrated its way through the table and across her elbow.

Angela reached over and checked the call - someone needed an incoming medical evaluation. Hostile.

Great.

"Simon, care to come with me? I'm being paged for a hostile physical exam, I wouldn't mind having some backup."

"Absolutely!" Simon threw his papers down and they headed to the detention center.

Angela had only been there once. It was a cold, uninviting wing of Overwatch. Upon entering, you were greeted by a distinct lack of windows or natural sunlight. Everything from the ceilings to floors was white, and every door had a lock on it. Every one.

"I hate it here," Simon muttered. "Gives me the creeps."

"Yes well, the creeps aren't going to stop us from doing our job."

They wandered down the corridors with the guidance of security personnel until they found the room they were looking for. Outside stood Jack, scribbling notes in a file. He glanced up at their footsteps, a relieved smile capturing his face when Angela rounded the corner.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," he smiled. "Thanks for coming down on short notice. Here's his profile. You should know he's coming off the effects of a flashbang, so his sight is limited."

Angela took the folder and flipped it open. There wasn't much to go on: overweight, middle aged, local resident for some years.

Wait.

"Jack?" Angela's eyes didn't leave the folder.

He cleared his throat and glanced at Simon. "All we need is the inspection, Ang."

" _This man must have something to do with Amelie's kidnapping! There's no way Overwatch would take someone into custody for anything less._ "

Her heart thumped in her chest, how much closer were they to finding her? Angela had been kept in the dark, especially by Jack. She'd tried to get information out of him a few times, but his deflections escalated from topic changes to downright walking away. Now, after all this time in the dark, she was about to meet someone who knew something about what had happened to her dear friend.

"I ... I understand. Well, if we're ready to begin, Simon?"

"Yes ma'am."

She opened the door to the small room. Inside, there sat a man. Just like the folder had said, he was overweight and in his mid-years. She cleared her throat, mentally reminding herself he may not be able to see her.

"Mr. Dunst, my name is Doctor Angela Ziegler. I'm here to perform a physical and checkup. How much vision have you regained?"

"You smell nice."

Simon's awkward glance danced in her peripheral. Great, a weirdo, too.

"Thank you, Mr. Dunst. Would you please mind answering the question?"

The next 30 minutes of her and Simon's life became a tediously frustrating process of pulling information out of the man and scouring his body for signs of trauma or distress. Physically, he seemed OK, if not in need of a shower. The inner workings of his eyes and his optic nerve were fine, and aside from a few bruised ribs and a laceration under his chin, Dunst was in fine shape.

"I didn't want to, you know," he whispered.

"Excuse me?" Her hand stopped on the door handle.

"I didn't mean for anything bad to happen. I needed the money."

The flicker of pity she had felt was instantly consumed by a tight ball of anger throbbing in her breast. How dare he try and explain himself to her? To burden her with the failures of his conscience? "Any explanation you have would be better saved for officials, Mr. Dunst. Have a good day." She tucked the chart under her arm and pushed the door open.

Gabriel had joined Jack during her exam, and they both turned when the pair exited the room.

"He's in decent shape. His ribs need some time to heal, but otherwise he's comfortable enough," she said. "Is there anything else you need?" Dunst had made her tense, irritable, and Gabriel's presence helped neither of those things.

"Hello, Angela."

" _Here we go._ " She had a sneaking suspicion he did things like this, made things intentionally awkward to force her hand. It worked, of course, she couldn't turn around and leave now without Jack seeing the odd exchange. So, instead, she handed the files to Simon and plastered a big smile on her face.

"Hi, Gabriel," but that didn't mean she had to be more than polite. "Jack, I'm going to have Simon take care of these files. In the meantime, just who is Dunst?"

Jack shifted his weight off the wall and rubbed the back of his neck. "We believe he has a connection to Amelie and Talon. We don't know much right now, but," he paused for a moment to study her, "what is your timeline for rejoining missions? I'd like to see you back in the field."

"Instead of, you know, sitting in a lab all day doing work a dozen other people could do," Gabriel tacked on.

Two versus one? That's hardly fair! Angela faltered for something to say to the two pairs of looming eyes. "I think my work here is plenty beneficial -"

Gabriel cut her off, "Not as beneficial as you are with us, doc."

"Angela," Jack moved to open the door, "I don't have time right now. Why don't I find you later, we need to talk about this."

Her eyes involuntarily met Gabriel's.

"That's fine."

She felt like her feet flew her down the hall. If she didn't know any better, it sure seemed like they were interrogating the wrong person. She'd been very clear on her reasons for staying in the lab. " _That, and you can't kill anyone in here,_ " her mind whispered.

Angela found herself rattled, in a sour mood, and more in denial than ever.

* * *

"I'm keepin' my eye on you, little lady, no funny business!"

Fareeha folded her arms over her chest and huffed. He watched her eyebrows furrow in concentration as her chocolate eyes darted between both his closed fists.

Finally, after a few minutes, she tentatively reached a hand out. It hovered for a few more seconds before she settled on his left hand. "It's in this one!"

"Not bad," he opened his palm to reveal the quarter.

"Yeeeeesss!" Fareeha snatched it out of his hand and held it up triumphantly to glimmer in the light. "I am the best, I can even beat you, Jesse!"

His laughter warmed her heart. It was a deep, intentional sound that reminded her of honey and dirt: raw, sweet and gritty. Ana had been hesitant at first to let her daughter near Jesse. His reputation preceded him, and she didn't want the negative influences of an outlaw rubbing off on Fareeha, no matter how endearing his smile was. She didn't, however, expect him to be great with kids.

He'd shocked her with his aptitude, and Fareeha had flocked to him almost immediately. She loved his cowboy hat, and had asked him to teach her how to smoke a cigar when she was old enough - That, Ana reminded him, would not happen.

Their relationship was odd, to say the least. Amelie's abduction overshadowed the moment they'd had at the bar. She didn't regret it, per say, even if it had upset the carefully balanced life she'd created for Fareeha and herself. He was attractive to her, and Ana tried to reason that she deserved a little male attention after so long. Giving Fareeha another male presence in her life couldn't be bad, right?

"You day dreamin' 'bout me again, darlin'?"

Ana scoffed at him, hiding her smiled behind her cup of tea.

* * *

Angela forgot Jack said he was going to stop by, starting when the chimes alerted her to someone at the door.

He smiled when she invited him in, even though they both knew the conversation wasn't going to be as friendly as they wished.

Jack took a minute to look around and then turned to her. "I'm sorry for how abrupt I was earlier. I've been meaning to talk to you for some time, and you've seemed to have a knack for slipping away before I could bring it up."

"I want you to know you can talk to me, Ang," he continued. "You've been distant. I miss my running buddy, I miss you having my back during missions. I'm worried about you."

He sat down in a chair, pulled her pistol out of his jacket and set it on the coffee table. "Why have you sequestered yourself, Ang?"

She hadn't expected him to bring the gun, but there it was. The thing she used to take away a life, the thing that haunted her dreams and kept her up tossing and turning. That damn gun.

Angela took a shaky breath and tried to steady herself; she had to keep lying, even if it tugged at her soul and drained her happiness. Hurting Jack wasn't her intention, but she had no choice if she wanted to keep her problems hidden.

"I'm fine," she said lowly. She found her eyes on her hands, not wanted to see the look on his face at her obvious denial. She didn't want to talk about it, she wanted to run far away back to her hospital where everything was sterile and clean and safe. "I appreciate you coming to check on me, but as I have said before, I believe I am more effective in the lab with Simon."

"You're lying. You won't even look at me." His voice was growing impatient, it had an edge it didn't a minute before.

"You're reading too much into this."

"Dammit Angela!" Jack's eyes were fierce, filled with the fire of a man fed up with someone's bullshit. "I didn't bring you on to this team so you could hide away in a lab because you shot someone. How's that any different from a patient dying on your operating table? You're unsettling the team, making people worry and taking focus away from missions. What happens when someone gets hurt because they're too busy tending to your bruised ego? You aren't doing your job, I don't give a damn what excuses you come up with, and you're making this a hell of a lot harder by shutting me out."

Her shoulders stiffened, chin raised in defiance. No one had spoken to her like that in years - she felt like a child being scolded. Jack's usual warmth was replaced by the steeled jaw of a seasoned veteran. The Jack in front of her right now was her superior, not her friend.

But that didn't stop the rising well of anger that burst out of her mouth. She was bone-tired, mentally fatigued, embarrassed and pissed off.

Her voice cut like ice through the tension. "If you are quite done raising your voice, Mr. Morrison, I believe you have nothing further to say to me. Please leave."

Angela walked over, opened the door and leveled him with a stare that would have made someone weaker crumple.

Jack studied her and her words for a moment from the chair. He'd underestimated her emotional state, and pushed too hard, too fast. Even if he was right, which he was, they weren't going to get anywhere productive at this point.

He knew when to fall back from a fight.

Standing up slowly, Jack sighed and walked out the door. The gun remained where he left it.

The click of the door felt like it echoed off the walls, bouncing around inside her ears as the final reminder of a fracture in a friendship she had come to cherish so deeply.

Angela realized her hand was shaking against the doorknob, and that's when the regret rushed over her like a cold shower. Her feet brought her to the kitchen with a fevered need to do something to wash away her feelings. She plucked down a bottle of red wine, twisted off the cap and drained a healthy pour into a wine glass. The alcohol slipped down her throat like water, calming her fingers' trembling and submerging the anxiety suffocating her heart. Each swig battled against the tears pricking in her eyes.

Fuck it. She was going to take a hint from Gabriel for once and drown her sorrows the old fashioned way.

The alcohol did its job, and soon the doctor was sprawled across the couch. Angela took another sip from the bottle - she's abandoned the glass almost immediately. Her eyes slide to the gun still sitting on the table. " _Why didn't he take the damn thing with him?_ " Stupid Jack. Stupid gun. Stupid Overwatch. What the fuck.

It mocked her. It made her uneasy, like it was about to jump off the table and start blowing holes through the walls. Haphazardly, she chucked a pillow at it, succeeding in knocking the gun off the table and under a chair. Turning back to her bottle, she drowned the last drops and let it tumble to the ground.

The couch cushion felt like it was absorbing Angela's face. Honestly, she didn't really mind, not that her mind was doing anything very useful at the moment. If only it could absorb the rest of her, transport her to a dimension where the only thing she had to worry about was what couch she wanted to have a peaceful sleep on.

Her fitful dozing didn't last long.

Dreams ripped Angela back to reality about an hour later, sending her sprawling onto the ground. An elbow cracked against the coffee table as she fell, eliciting a string of curses from a brain still very-much consumed by alcohol. "Dammit, dammit," she gasped. Nursing a throbbing elbow, Angela clawed her way into a standing position. Tears came rushing back to her eyes. This was it, not even drunkenness could save her from her nightmares. Was she doomed forever to a sleepless, tormented existence? Was this her punishment?

She let out a strained sob and grabbed her jacket off the hook by the door. A walk was what she needed. Some crisp air would help clear her head. Her eyes lingered on the kitchen as she was about to step out of the apartment. " _Well, it's not like the night could get much worse,_ " she thought. Angela took another bottle of wine from the kitchen and headed for the nearest exit.

Stumbling out of the elevator, Angela tucked the bottle under her coat and pushed open a door leading outside. A gust of chilly air greeted her; fat snowflakes peppered her cheeks.

Oh.

It was snowing. When had that started?

A dulled part of her brain tried to tell her that her flimsy jacket wasn't enough to keep her warm. But Angela was tired of thinking so much. Unscrewing the wine bottle's cap, she made her way over the snow-dusted grass to a bench. Taking a seat, she tilted her face up to the sky. The snow felt good as it melted on her face and stuck to her eyelashes. It was an unusually quiet night, like the moon had been expecting her drunken arrival and silenced the usual rumbles in anticipation.

* * *

The couch was particularly uncomfortable that night.

Gabriel gazed into the darkness of the shooting range lobby; he didn't know how long it had been since the motion sensor lights turned off. Thirty minutes? An hour? This was how most of his nights went, a slipstream of time and boredom and whiskey until the alarm on his phone let him know it was 6 a.m.

But something was different tonight. He couldn't get comfortable. He looked in the direction of the exit, remembering the night Angela had tried to sneak in to do some late-night target practice.

The thought brought a smile to his face. Her expression when she saw him was priceless - surprise, mortification and maybe a touch of curiosity. He'd held her that night, taught her how to work through her fear of guns. It was a pleasant memory floating in a sea of dark ones.

His smile was wiped away when he remembered that Angela was supposed to meet with Jack.

Sitting up, he poured himself a glass and slugged back the shot. The lights flickered on around him at the movement. " _Might as well stretch my legs,_ " he thought. " _Not like I'm getting any sleep tonight, anyway._ "

Gabriel was surprised to see it was snowing when he walked outside. His boots left tracks on the path as he made his way around the compound. The air's briskness felt good against his perpetually overheated skin. They'd extracted as much information as they could get out of Dunst. Unfortunately, most of it was fairly useless, not that Gabriel was surprised. Talon was no rookie operation, they weren't going to give a plant enough information to compromise a mission.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he almost didn't notice the figure sitting on the bench. It was unmistakably a person, and, what the fuck? Gabriel squinted, trying to get a better view of the person in the distance. " _That can't be ... The hell is doc doing out here?_ " His jaw actually dropped as he watched her tilt her head back and drink from what looked like a bottle of wine.

Picking up his pace, Gabriel got a better view of her. Her shoulders were covered in snow, like she'd been sitting outside for at least more than a few minutes.

"Angela?"

He rounded the bench and absorbed the scene in front of him. There sat Dr. Angela Ziegler, head of medical at Overwatch, shivering, crying and holding an entire bottle of wine.

It took her a second to look up at him. Her voice was quiet, she looked back down at the bottle. "Hi."

" _Sheisse,_ " she thought. Angela hadn't really anticipated anyone being out here, much less him.

The bench creaked under his added weight. She didn't protest when he pulled the bottle out of her hands. "Can't sleep?" His question sounded more like a statement of fact than an inquiry.

"I ..." she was at a loss for words. "I'm fine."

His laughter filled the quiet. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd ever find you sitting in the snow, straight out of a damn movie, crying and drinking out of a bottle, doctor."

"Leave me alone," she snapped. Angela was not in the mood to be mocked, but as she staggered to her feet, his fist curled around the back of her jacket and dragged her back down.

"Sit down, you're drunk," he said, "and let me guess why, you can't sleep because you killed someone? That's why you won't go back on missions?"

"Wha-" she stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words to such a direct - and accurate - accusation.

"It's obvious, cariño," Gabriel said matter-of-factly. "You had the same look I've seen on a hundred soldiers after their first kill. I had that look once, too."

"I'm so tired," she admitted. She was defeated, too worn down to bother denying it. There was also a part of her that felt more comfortable confiding in him than in Jack, even if he was an enormous prick.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while he contemplated the bottle. "Let me tell you a story," Gabriel began, "of the first time I killed someone." He hated what he was about to do: he shrugged his coat off and threw it around her shoulders.

"You said you hate the cold," she protested, trying to give the jacket back.

"Put the damn coat on," he commanded. She did as she was told, quietly relishing the radiating heat his body had left in the coat's interior.

He took a pull from the wine and began.

"You've already seen the aftermath. That scar on my collarbone? That was left by the first man I ever killed. I was 19, and deployed in Iraq."

He had another drink, contemplating memories he hadn't thought about in a long, long time.

"We were clearing buildings in a small town. It seemed pretty quiet, but we knew it was infested with Haji -"

"Haji?" Angela cut in.

"Terrorists, bad guys, rag heads. Anyway, the town was infested with Haji, and we had to go in and clear them out house by house. It was like a rats nest, dozens of 'em hiding in every corner you could imagine. It was dangerous, slow-moving, and hot as hell. Every door, window and corner had to be covered, or you risked getting your head smeared all over a wall."

Gabriel glanced at the blonde to make sure she was paying attention.

"We had just finished one building and were moving on to the next when I thought I heard something. Stupid, cocky piece of shit that I was, I split off and doubled back into the house," he paused to take another drink. "I still have no idea where the fuck Haji was hiding, we cleared that house from top to bottom. The floorboards, maybe? Either way, I took two steps into that house and caught a bullet to my chest. He tackled me onto the floor, and that's about as close quarters as you can get. There's no 'rules of engagement' at that point, no fucking Geneva Convention, just two people doing whatever they can not to end up dead.

"We fought for what seemed like minutes. In reality it was only about 30 seconds. It's funny how time warps when your adrenaline is pumping that hard. Haji was on top of me, screaming in Arabic or some bullshit. I was trying to get my pistol out of my belt when he stabbed me."

He absentmindedly stroked the scar under his shirt. "Somehow, I was able to free the pistol. I shot straight through his chest. My superiors told me later that I shot him eight times. I only thought I shot him maybe twice," Gabriel's voice grew quieter. "I watched his eyes die, Angela. It was like someone flipped a light switch. He was gone, just like that. The muscles that had strained so hard against mine became nothing but lifeless meat, his whole body collapsed on me."

Angela didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until that moment. To think he had come so close to dying, sometimes she forgot that Jack and Gabriel hadn't always been so invincible.

"That," he polished off the bottle and set it on the ground, "was the first time I killed someone. I threw up for three days. I couldn't sleep. He stalked me through the halls when I was awake and tormented me when I was asleep."

"How'd you make it stop?" Angela asked.

"Time," Gabriel's breath created a cloud in the frosty night. "And accepting that someone was going to lose in that situation. Either I died, or he died. There was no other solution, no alternative. We both chose to be on a battlefield, and death is an unavoidable part of that. I accepted that if I hadn't killed him, he would have been able to sneak up behind my team and kill them all."

"Gabriel, thank yo-"

"Listen, what I'm getting at is that you need to stop moping around. He's dead, you're not. If you hadn't killed him, he would have killed you and that little girl. Those are the only two scenarios, doc. Jack wants you back with us."

"Do you?" She didn't know why the question slipped out of her lips, but she suddenly desperately wanted to hear the answer.

"Ya, I do. It's nice having a portable fix-me-up wherever I go, even if you get us into more trouble than it's worth."

Relief blossomed in her chest. " _He wants me there._ "

She didn't notice her own smile, but Gabriel did.

"Come on," he stood up. "It's starting to snow harder, and I'm freezing my ass off."

"Oh, right, sorry," she hastily stood up and they started their way back to the nearest entrance. A comfortable silence fell between them, that is, until her inebriated legs betrayed her and slipped on a patch of snow.

"Jesus Christ girl," Gabriel wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her body into his. "How drunk are you?"

"I am not drunk, it's wet!"

He snorted, but didn't let go of her waist until they were standing outside her apartment. He wasn't about to admit that he was tipsy after slugging the whiskey and bottle of wine. She fumbled with the lock for a moment before pushing the door open and switching on the lights. Angela threw the empty wine bottle in the trash and took a breath to steady herself; drunk her was about to do something, and she needed all the courage she could get.

Gabriel cocked an eyebrow at her. "Doc, my coat?"

"I want you to stay."

A heartbeat's silence filled the room. He blinked, slowly registering her words. "Angela?"

"I said," she pulled off his coat, set it on the counter and turned around to face him. "You should stay."

Heat surged through his body; he searched her eyes for some explanation. " _Fuck,_ " he wasn't one to take advantage of a drunk woman, no matter how much he wanted to grab her and throw her on the counter. " _Don't proposition me like this, don't tempt me._ " His body was already responding to her, already demanding he do something. "You're drunk, Ang."

"And you aren't?" She shot back. "I know exactly what I'm doing." Angela took a step toward him. "You said the only things that put you to sleep are sex and booze. I'd like to test that theory."

Gabriel was never one to consider consequences for long.

His eyes never leaving her, he shut the door and locked it.


	24. Magnets Collide

*** I'd recommend you go back and read the chapter before this, and THEN this one, or it could seem a little disjointed. Sorry for taking so long, y'all. It's been a crazy couple months. Enjoy!***

* * *

Gabriel covered the distance between them in three strides.

He pulled Angela into a heady kiss, one hand tangled in her hair and the other like a vice around her waist. His body was demanding and impatient, backing her against the counter with an urgency that sent a thrill down her spine. He hauled her up and sat her on the counter, groaning when she wrapped her legs around his hips. It's as if their bodies knew what to do before they did, entwining themselves so tightly that he could feel her every curve and twist. He loved the little sounds she made as he explored her, palms tracing her sides and around her back - her skin felt like silk under his calloused fingers.

Angela's mind was hazy; it was like all her senses had been replaced with an all-consuming lust that threatened to swallow her whole. All she wanted was him inside her, on her, all around her until she had no idea where she started and he began. This is what she wanted. This is what she needed, it just took drunk her to reach out and take it.

What rational part of her mind was still present banged against the box she'd shoved it into, pleading with a doctor's logic she didn't care to hear. "He's your commander!" it screamed. "Your teammate! He's an asshole!"

But Angela was lonely and sad and desperately tired. If sex worked for him, why not her?

The morning still seemed so far off. That's when she would worry and regret and panic. Right now, she was going to let herself make a few mistakes.

She snuck her hands under the bottom of his shirt, grinning at the hiss he made when her cold fingers touched his stomach.

"Christ, woman," he swatted at her, "your fingers are like icicles."

"I know," she giggled, "you're so warm though."

Gabriel pinned Angela's arms behind her back when she tried to slip her thumbs under the waistband of his sweatpants. His lips tingled her neck, "that," he purred, "is not what you want getting cold."

His mouth cut off her laugh, and soon he was pulling off her shirt as their playfulness transformed into a purposeful removal of clothes.

Throwing her top on the ground behind him, Gabriel suddenly felt like a horny teenager all over again. He drank in the sight of her body. She was petite, yet so incredibly perfect. A slim waist brought his eyes up to a chest that sent a surge of heat down his core. Her body lacked any noticeable defects, her skin seemed too flawless to be real.

"No white lace this time, eh?" Gabriel chided. He was trying to keep his cool without pouncing on her, and liked the way she tried to hide under his gaze. To think that minutes before she was so bold, and now she squirmed like a school girl.

"If I wanted you to annoy me," she huffed, "I would have asked."

Her actions gave away the faux irritation in her voice, as she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Angela couldn't help but hum in approval at the chest she'd come to know so well. She reached out and traced the scars left by Jessie's bullets, unintentionally frowning at the memory of his bloodied being in the helicopter. There were already so many scars on that tan skin, he didn't need more.

Images flashed across her eyes: Wind whipping her hair across her face, the chopper doors opening to a chaotic scene of dead and dying, the strength of his fingers digging into her arm and the peaceful expression on his face once the sedatives kicked in.

"If this is the face you make when you're turned on, we're going to need to work on it," Gabriel dipped his head so their lips were almost touching. "I've got some worse scars you can take a look at, if you want."

He stole her lips before she had a chance to respond, dragging her hips forward to feel the heat of her pressed against him.

It'd been awhile since he'd touched a woman like this. Saving the world didn't leave much room for human touch, unless it was the violent type. Every part of him she came in contact with seemed to sigh and relax, like it was relearning what gentleness meant.

The tips of her fingers felt like feathers, her nails like whispers calling to his nerves to wake up to the pleasure they promised. And a part of him was waking up. The flickering fire she'd stoked in him – teased into being, really – was roaring to life with an insatiable desire to consume every inch of her.

Why'd he seem so fixed on the holier-than-thow doctor? No idea. Their personalities mixed like oil and water. Hers studious, gentle and by-the-book. His wild, unpredictable and brash. Maybe the sex could keep them shaken up enough to mix.

Who the hell cared, anyway. She was his, and after tonight he was going to make sure she didn't want anyone else.

He needed her body like air, and this time, this time, she wasn't going anywhere.

Their lips never parting, Gabriel hoisted her off the counter and through the bedroom door. They tumbled onto the bed in a flurry of tangled body parts, barely taking the time to breathe before their lips found some part of the other to kiss.

His frame was heavy on hers; she liked that he enveloped her so completely. The wine dulled her, leaving only a rolling pleasure that spread out from the pit of her stomach all the way to the back of her head in a continuous, hypnotic pulse. His presence commanded her attention, from the slight musk of his sweat, to the rough stubble of his 5 o'clock shadow grazing her chest, to his fingers fiddling with the clasp of her bra.

"Why is this still on," Gabriel growled. He didn't give her time to answer, instead flicking the metal clasps apart and dragging one cup aside by his teeth.

Angela let out a moan at his renewed attention. The cold sharpness of his teeth combined with the heat of his breath left a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Whatever semblance of shyness she may have had left evaporated when his tongue swirled across her breast. Her chest wasn't the strongest erogenous zone she had, not by a long shot, but tonight, nothing was going according to plan. His tongue was driving her up a wall with the way it flicked and licked at her nipple. Each kiss sent a lightning bolt of delicious warmth straight down her spine.

Angela wanted so much more than where his mouth was now.

Something about his demeanor changed. Maybe it was her soft moaning, or her palms pressing his head down. Gabriel's touch became rougher and more intentional. His breathing faster and harsher, eyes dark and focused. It wasn't too dissimilar to how he looked on the battlefield: predatory and dangerous.

Instead of scaring her, it intrigued her. His brown eyes seemed impossibly black with desire; Angela found herself - a woman who considered herself rather risk averse - wanting to step into their depths and be swallowed whole.

She realized he'd tossed her bra across the bed at some point when he sat back to rake his gaze over her exposed upper body. "Estas bella," Gabriel murmured as he traced the curve of her waist up to the underside of her breast and over to her ribs.

Unable to control arching into the warmth of his touch, she slid her arms south to find the elastic at the top of his pants. He'd explored, now it was her turn. Angela spread her hands across the firmness of his stomach, marveling silently at the defined ridges of his abs. Whatever that juice was the Americans gave these guys, it was a hell of a drug.

His sweats and boxers didn't offer much resistance when she slipped her hand underneath them. She smoothed her hand down; Hesitation was the last thing on her mind as she slowly moved her hand to his pelvis.

And then she felt it. Felt him.

Hot, strong, and very awake.

She hadn't noticed he'd been holding his breath until he let it out in a shuddering groan. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly open - Angela'd never seen him look so vulnerable. It sparked a need in her soul, a need to keep him vulnerable in her arms and prove to herself that she could hold power over his pleasure.

This was it. They'd made their intentions clear. Rationality worked both ways: she knew she shouldn't do this, but she also knew if she came this far, there was no stopping what was to come. He infuriated her one second and intoxicated her in the next. Nothing about him should entice her, yet her mind had dreamed about him long before she admitted to herself that, despite all common sense, she couldn't stay away from him.

Sometime, long ago, she'd promised herself she's do the opposite with men like him.

Maybe all promises weren't worth keeping.

Angela remembered what he'd said to her the last time Gabriel had been in her apartment:

 _"Cariño, there's only one way to fix our, as you imply, 'problem.'"_

 _"Oh?" Angela took a sip of her tea. "If you have a solution I'm all ears."_

 _His eyes held her eyes until he turned to her bedroom door. "We have sex."_

How had he been so right and her so wrong?

It was like his world came to a screeching halt when the doctor's hand grasped him. The months of loneliness hit him like a freight train. Every frustrated shower, every restless night courtesy of the life of a military man was whisked away by nothing more than her touch. Gabriel would never say this out loud, but being handled in a way that wasn't violent did more in that second to strip away his stress than any drink could hope to.

And God, how his body was ready to be touched. His nerves exploded with a feeling so intense it was difficult to keep his eyes open. He'd done such a good job repressing the constant nagging sexual urges that he was almost unprepared for the feeling.

"Been awhile?" she teased.

"Playing hero has its drawbacks," he shot back, not one to be mocked. "Now," he said gruffly, "where were we?"

The brief blips of clarity were ripped away by the howling storm of sexual tension they'd stirred up. No sooner would one say something than the other would cut them off with a kiss.

Pants joined shoes in a pile on the floor as cool air caressed their skin. Gabriel shifted his weight entirely on top of her, reveling in her smooth, naked body; managing somehow not to break their kiss, he took off her panties and parted her thighs with his knee. His breath ragged with anticipation, he leaned himself into her to feel her delicious wetness.

Fire licked at his self-control, threatened to whisk away all willpower at the thought of being inside her body - a body that was hot and writhing under him. Angela's whimpers coaxed his primal instincts on - he could scarcely think straight and pushed himself against her entrance.

Desire flooded her being. Unbearable need to be filled and dominated clouded her thoughts until all she managed was a breathless, "Gabriel, please."

He grunted, gripped her hip with one hand and buried himself inside her with a hard thrust.

It felt as if time itself stopped. Nothing else in the world mattered in that moment. Nothing could stop the shock of satisfaction going through her at the fullness he gave her. Even the pain was pleasure, a reminder of how long it had been since she'd been so satisfied. Logic and reason had finally succumbed to their magnetic attraction.

Their voices groaned in unison, two humans releasing themselves to pure delight.

Before she had a chance to think he was moving in her, dashing away reality with slow, steady thrusts.

Her heat practically pushed him over the edge. Each time he moved her lips clung to him in a desperate attempt to keep him firmly connected to her. His mind was in shambles; she was so fantastically wet, so warm and tight and welcoming that he couldn't stop his pace quickening.

Angela's body was a drug, and Gabriel couldn't get enough.

For awhile, the creaking of the bed and sounds of sex were the only things that filled the night air.

Her nails scraped his back, begging him to push impossibly further into her. "Gabe..." she moaned, "oh my god." Unable to control herself, her hips matched his increased speed. She wrapped her legs around his waist, grinning at the strained noise he made at the new angle.

His thrusts became wild, hips burying into her over and over and over. All Angela could do was let him dominate her. The wildfire inside her was slowly evolving; the familiar feeling nestling itself in her gut and coiling tighter and tighter.

She loved the way his voice shook with each ragged breath, she loved the salty taste of the skin on his neck, she loved ...

Oh.

 _Oh._

 _"_ Ahh!" Angela cried out. She was so close. God, he was driving her crazy. Utterly powerless against Gabriel's presence, she surrendered herself completely to his ministrations. Wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her; the pressure mounted until she was sure she was going to drown in its depths. Her mind was melting, all semblance of sanity washed away by the tsunami tumbling toward her. "Gabriel," she gasped, "I'm going to c-"

Her pelvis jerked upwards, back arching up to his chest; haze darkened her vision. Every atom of her being shook with the intensity of the orgasm. A thousand stars exploded in her eyes, a million nerves simultaneously burst as if finally waking up from the oppressive sadness she's been stuck in.

She'd never experienced an orgasm that extreme. Aftershocks thumped pleasantly throughout her like the ripples of a rock dropped in water.

So consumed in the instant, she didn't realize Gabriel had slowed to a firm rhythm and was watching her. She could see a glint of his teeth, and realized he was chuckling.

"Don't laugh at me," Angela panted. She suddenly felt shy and exposed. Had she made a weird face or something? It's not exactly like she could help it.

"No," he nestled his face against the side of her neck. His husky voice tickled her ear, "I want to hear it again."

She was glad the room was dark enough that he couldn't see her blush. But a curious thought entered her mind: What does he sound like when he cums?

Feeling mischievous, Angela tightened her walls and was rewarded with a strangled gasp. "You don't sound so bad yourself," she said.

Gabriel grabbed her wrists and forced them above her head while picking up the speed of his thrusts. He wasn't far behind her, and the sounds of her orgasm and feeling of her body clamping down on him were driving him insane.

He could get lost in the doctor's sensation. Each time he pulled out he couldn't wait to plunge himself back inside her heat. Their bodies collided together at his frantic pace; her nails sent shivers up and down his back that somehow heightened every feeling.

Then she squeezed down on him again. Hard.

A sharp noise escaped his mouth as he filled her one more time. He emptied inside her with powerful throbs, collapsing on top of her from the strength of the orgasm sucking away any muscle control he had left. His hips rocked slower and slower, breathing calmed down from jagged gasps, knees regained feeling. His mind took its time restarting his frontal lobe, choosing instead to let his brain stem control the show for a little bit longer.

Gingerly he rolled off her; the cool sheets felt fantastic on his sweaty body. For a time they laid there in silence. What was there to be said? Nothing, really.

Angela broke the quiet when she got off the bed and disappeared to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. What stared back was a disheveled woman - ravished if she was going to give it any verb - with wild blonde hair sticking in all directions, flushed cheeks and noticeable red marks on her neck and breasts. She forgot for a moment why she'd come in the bathroom in the first place; a warm sensation sliding down her thighs reminded her.

"Fuck," Angela whispered. " _Did I go mad? Why in the world did I let him cum inside me?_ "

Because it was unimaginably hot, that's why.

"Ya, that's how you end up pregnant," she chastised herself.

She finished cleaning up and took her time washing her face and brushing her teeth. Yes, she was stalling, but opening the door that separated her and Gabriel seemed like an acknowledgment of what she'd done.

Hesitating, she steeled herself, wrapped a towel around her chest, took a deep breath and walked back into the bedroom.

If she was expecting a conversation, she was sorely mistaken. A smile formed on her lips at the sight before her: Gabriel's sleeping form took up the far side of the bed. He looked so peaceful asleep. Angela was careful not to wake him as she put on a slip and eased her way under the covers.

It didn't take long for exhaustion to drag her consciousness into blissful oblivion.


	25. Potassium Poisoning

Ow.

A foggy blanket of sleep scattered her thoughts.

OW.

Dull pain was slowly blowing the fog away like a soft breeze; Angela fought against it, subconsciously clinging to sleep. But the ache and light streaming through the window were winning the war, and soon she blearily opened her eyes, flinching when she again moved her legs under the cool sheets.

Angela wasn't much of a mover when she slept, that's why her half-awake mind found it odd that the pillows were disturbed next to her. A lot of things seemed odd, in fact.

" _Why are my clothes all over the place?"_

 _"_ _Why is my bedroom door open?_ "

 _"Why are my thighs so -_ "

"Ach du großer Gott!" Angela sat up in bed fast enough to make her head spin. Unfortunately for her, that only lasted a second; memories started crashing down around her in a horrifying play-by-play of the night.

Nightmare. Wine. Snow. Crying. Gabriel.

 **Gabriel.**

"What have I done?" she whispered. Silence was her only answer. Now she knew why her body ached, why her thighs were sore.

The shout erupted from her mouth before she could stop it.

"ANGELA!"

Never in her life had she done something that reckless, that stupid. Sex with, for all intents and purposes, her boss. And on top of that, not using protection?!

She flopped backwards, messy hair splayed across the pillow. "Have I gone mad?"

Somewhere in the back of her mind she was cringing at the fact that he'd obviously left at some point during the night. But would she have preferred waking up next to him? What would she have said? What was she going to say?

The worst part? Angela remembered in vivid detail how fantastic the sex was.

A blush crept over her cheeks as she recalled how she'd cried out, begged him for more, been the one to invite HIM to stay. Dark parts of her even wanted more.

"No. Nope. Negative," Angela muttered to herself and got out of bed. A shower was what she needed, if anything to get the smell of sex off her skin. The force of the hangover hit her in that moment, and she stumbled over to the bathroom just in time to puke into the toilet.

This was now officially the worst day ever.

Once she rid herself of the contents of her stomach, she turned the shower on as hot as it would go and let herself slide down the wall until she was sitting on the tiles under the water. Angela sat there for awhile in silence, eyes closed. She wished the water could wash away her actions and their memories. She wished she knew what happened to her sterling ethics. She wished the sex hadn't been so damn good.

"I am logical. I am smart. I can figure this out," she said to herself. "Mistakes happen to everyone. I will inform him that that will never happen again, and to please forgive my out-of-line behavior."

Except she'd told herself that previously when it came to Gabriel, and yet here she was.

She didn't even know what her schedule was for the day. Her pager was somewhere in the apartment - the coffee table, probably. At least no one had knocked on her door. Well, how would she know? Drunk sleep wasn't light sleep. Presumably, if it had been important enough someone would have made sure she'd woken up.

Sleep.

The word danced around her head, as if carrying some amount of importance she hadn't clicked in to yet.

And then it came to her: Despite the hangover, she'd slept through the entire night without a single nightmare. No half-dead demon dragging itself toward her, no screams, no explosions, no bullets, just the sweet blanket of unconsciousness through the whole night. She didn't feel well not because she didn't get a full night of sleep, but because of all the alcohol she drank.

"Let's hope one stupid decision was enough to stop the nightmares," she mumbled. The last thing she needed was the knowledge that the only thing that had managed to put her to sleep was Gabriel.

The doctor sat in the shower until the water ran cold. Dehydration made her feel like she was moving through molasses once she finally got out.

In that instant, dripping and swaying in the bathroom, Angela had the only intelligent thought of the morning. Fumbling with the towel, she dried herself off as quickly as she could and trudged her way over to the storage closet. Inside was the Holy Grail: IV saline drip bags. Five minutes later she was back in bed with a needle in her arm on her way to sweet, sweet relief.

Eyes closed, her mind wandered where it chose, which honestly wasn't anywhere at all. After the throbbing in her temples subsided and she didn't feel nauseous when vertical, Angela had to swing by the infirmary and grab a packet of morning-after pills. That realization dragged her mood impossibly lower that it already was. First, she slept with her boss. Second, she had to steal pills because she couldn't risk anyone asking any questions.

"I've become a degenerate," she moaned pitifully.

At this rate, Gabriel Reyes was going to be the death of her.

...

An hour later, Dr. Angela Ziegler felt like a new woman. Nothing beat a saline drip when it came to defeating a hangover - something she'd learned after celebrating her finals in medical school.

She brushed her hair out, threw on slacks and a sweater, put her phone in her pocket and started on her way to the next important destination: the medical supply room.

It was silly, Angela knew, yet she felt like every person who looked at her could see the guilt dripping off her skin. Each smile, "Hello" and "How are you?" left her fumbling for a response that usually ended up coming out as a mix between "Hi" and "Fine."

Slipping into the medical ward, Angela gave an authoritative nod to the clerk at the front desk of the supply room. It wasn't uncommon to see a doctors going in and out - much less Angela - thought it ate at her. She absolutely should not be abusing her privileges as a doctor, but she also couldn't exactly sign out the medication she needed without raising some serious eyebrows.

A couple rows down she found what she was looking for. Safely tucked in her pocket, Angela b-lined it to her office, shut the door and flopped into her chair. She quietly opened the box and delicately placed the small blue pill on her desk.

Staring at it swept all of the prior evening's mishaps back. She stole. Dr. Angela Ziegler stole medicine because she was too damn stupid to wear a condom while she was drunkenly having sex with her commander.

And this, this tiny little pill, was going to make sure there were no more mistakes.

Ringing pulled her out of her self-pitying musings. She picked up her phone while standing up to grab a bottle of water, "Dr. Ziegler speaking."

"Ang, we need you in conference room 5 for a briefing. Are you busy?"

Her eyes trained to the pill again, "Hi Jack, no I'm not. I'll see you there in 10."

"Roger."

" _Get your head in the game, doctor,_ " Angela chided herself. The real world was not going to wait for her to fret over her mistakes, and Overwatch needed her. With one swig of water, she washed down the pill, pushed the box into the trash and headed out the door.

* * *

Dawn dragged Gabriel into consciousness. He squinted, confused, until he glanced over at the splash of blonde on the pillow next to him.

Easing himself out of bed, Gabriel gathered his clothes, which, he held back a chuckle, had been quite literally thrown around the room.

One set of toes stuck out of the sheets that were barely covering the naked body underneath. Gabriel lingered for a moment to soak in the sight, and was half-tempted to wake her up for round two.

Angela looked more relaxed than he'd seen since that mission that inspired her impromptu field hiatus.

He hesitated at the door, checked to make sure no one was in the hallway and called an elevator.

Thirty minutes later, Overwatch's commander sent a flurry of punches into a bag in the gym. He always forgot what it was like to get a full night's sleep, and usually ended up with a lot of pent up energy by the time he did wake up. This time, though, it wasn't only the sleep. He felt _good_. His whole body felt rejuvenated and relaxed. His mind even seemed quelled.

He knew what it was, of course. Getting your rocks off does tend to calm a man down. Sweat trickled down his temples with each punch. He planned on a long shower after this, a beer and breakfast.

Gerard was surprised to see someone else in the gym that early. With Amelie missing, he'd been going to the gym earlier and earlier every morning to be alone and work out his stress. Who really knew how much it helped, Overwatch was stilling babysitting him like he was a damn flight risk.

"The fuck are you doing up this early?"

The men appraised each other for a moment, neither willing to admit why they were actually down there.

Gabriel wiped the sweat from his face and gave Gerard a shrug, "Couldn't sleep."

"Is there any new information from Dunst?"

" _Fuck me,_ " Gabriel's jaw tensed. " _Don't start this shit with me right now._ "

"No," he focused his attention back on the bag.

"Why not?"

" _Fucking Christ..._ "

"What do you want me to do, cut his fucking fingers off?" Gabriel growled. "Talon wasn't going to give that sack of shit any information that would be useful to us."

Gerard's brows furrowed. The man was clearly unhappy with the response, but Gabriel didn't give a damn. He stopped hitting the bag and turned around to face him. "What are you expecting me to do, huh? I can't read minds, and your incessant bitching isn't helping."

"She's my wife!" Gerard's voice pitched upward. His hands curled into fists. "What the hell would you know about that, anyway? I've seen how you treat women, and I sure as hell am not surprised none of them stuck around."

"Unlike you," Gabriel growled, "I don't need an emotional crutch."

The room filled with an oppressive, tense silence.

Just as the tension felt like it was going to burst, Jesse threw open the door and sauntered in.

"Woah there," he glanced back and forth between the two men. "I reckon I came in at a bad time?"

Gabriel snarled, threw the punching gloves at Gerard's feet and shoved past Jesse.

"So..." Jesse scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "Feel like sparrin'?"

Gerard left the room without answering.

Jesse glanced between both doors with a cocked eyebrow, "Well mornin' to you too."

...

Something was missing in his mission packets. Gabriel wasn't sure what it was, but he could sense it. They were usually thicker than this, had more intelligence. Overwatch had a series of international missions it was sending troops on, and he couldn't imagine the missions were suddenly simple enough to warrant the discrepancy.

The remainder of the morning was uneventful aside from his run-in with Gerard. Overwatch wanted to send a small contingency of men to check in on the Shimada Clan in Japan. They''d been a little too active of late, and there were whispers of a growing animosity between the leader's two sons.

He had to figure out who he wanted to take. It wasn't going to be anything overly dangerous, the Shimadas knew better than to pick direct fights with Overwatch, but that didn't mean he was going to take any green recruits.

The Clan might not mess with Gabriel or Jack, though they'd sure as hell kill someone lesser to send a message.

Blackwatch had been sending him regular intelligence which seemed to confirm Sojiro's declining health. It was more intel than Overwatch ever seemed to get its hands on, Gabriel snorted, at least half of the show knew how to get shit done.

It would be best if he stayed away from Gerard for now. There was no doubt in his mind that Amelie was dead, and he wasn't one to be a shoulder to cry on or endless fountain of sympathy and pats on the shoulder. Overwatch needed a teammate in top shape to deal with Talon more than ever, and if Gerard could no longer be that person, they'd have to find someone else.

Gabriel envied Talon at points. They were terrorists, sure, but they had no higher moral ethics weighing them down. Being able to do what had to be done to complete a mission - freedom to ensure success - was not a luxury Overwatch granted. It wasn't morals that were the biggest problem. Bureaucracy, politicians and international politics constantly caused problems for him and his team. He wished he could shove a gun up their asses and tell them all to fuck off to hell on a slip 'n slide of bullets.

And then there was Jack, always playing hero like the world was some sort of movie.

"Son of a bitch," Gabriel grunted. Speak of the devil, his phone was flashing Jack's name. "Hello golden boy."

"Funny Gabriel. We need you in conference room 5 asap."

A frown tugged down Gabriel's lips. Since when did Jack tell _him_ about meetings? "Some reason why I didn't know about this, Jack?"

He could hear the irritated clicking of teeth on the other end, and then Jack replied, "10 minutes tops, confere-."

The phone crunched into the holder with the force of a man perturbed. First Gerard, now this? What the fuck happened to his relaxed morning?

* * *

"I think it's potassium chloride poisoning, Angela."

"Winston," Angela bit her cheek to contain her smile. "You'd need to eat a lot of bananas for that to be a problem. I mean, a LOT."

The two sat toward the back of the table in conference room 5, in which was gathered Ana, Jack, an unsurprisingly annoyed looking Torbjorn, Jesse and a woman she had yet to meet.

"I do tend to overindulge," Winston looked away sheepishly. "I seem to have a bad stomach ache. I was looking up online the potassium chloride to weight ratio necessary to induce fatal levels of poisoning and I would appreciate a medical expert's, like yourself, professional opinion on the dietary restrictions I should work toward. That, and I may have a slight peanut butter problem."

Angela was about to reply when Jack cleared his throat. She watched him glance toward the door before he caught her eye; they stared at each other for a tense second until he looked away. It hurt her to see him look at her like that. They'd need to talk about their fight.

Patting Winston's hand to let him know she'd heard him, Angela promised herself she'd pull Jack aside the moment this meeting was done.

Ana and Jack stood up and motioned over the woman who seemed to be dressed oddly warm for being inside. " _She probably just arrived,_ " Angela thought to herself. Dark hair, glasses, Asian - she bet the woman was most likely from China based on facial structure. She seemed shy next to the pair, shifting nervously and offering faint smiles while fiddling with her hands.

"Thank you for coming, everyone," Ana started. "We've got a few things to discuss, but first would like to introduce a member of Overwatch many of you have not had the pleasure of meeting. Please meet Mei-Ling Zhou. She heads our watchpoint in Antarctica and is a pioneer in the climatology and climate research fields."

Mei cracked a big smiled and bowed, "It is a pleasure to meet you all."

"I ain't never met an Eskimo 'efore," Angela heard Jesse mutter.

Before they had a chance to introduce themselves, Gabriel swung the door open, saw Mei, and immediately barked out a laugh. "What are we panicking about this time, the Earth turning into an icicle, or spontaneously bursting into flames?"

He didn't wait for an answer, instead flipping a chair around and taking a seat, eyes fixed on Jack. "Well don't let me interrupt."

" _Sheisse._ "

Panic coursed through her veins, sending a shiver down her spine that left her short of breath. He'd been in her bed not 12 hours before, he'd been doing things to her not 12 hours before, and here Gabriel was without even a glance in her direction. Was this how it was going to be? Maybe he was acting like it never happened. That wouldn't be so bad, right? That's what she wanted, wasn't it?

Too bad she couldn't deny the little ache in her chest at his subtle dismissal.

If Angela got to choose between reverting back to her vomiting hangover or being stuck in a room with one man who she was fighting with, another she'd just slept with and a gorilla asking for peanut butter advice ... She'd take the puking.

A cleared throat brought everyone's attention back to Jack, who'd set up a hologram of various watchpoints around the world. "Now that everyone's here, we've got a lot to discuss."

This was, decidedly, the worst day ever.


	26. Whatever Makes You Feel Better

***I'm alive! Here's the next chapter. Things will pick up a bit moving forward in terms of major Overwatch milestones. As always, don't hesitate to reach out to me with questions or comments.***

* * *

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Ziegler!"

Mei had pulled Angela aside the moment the meeting ended to express her excitement at being at Overwatch HQ and with another science-oriented mind like Ziegler's. Angela sighed internally as she watched Jack leave out of the corner of her eye. She'd meant to catch him, but couldn't exactly excuse herself from a conversation that had only just started.

Gabriel had walked out of the meeting half-way through. He'd never looked in her direction. Not once.

Her chest felt tight. Emotions fought beneath her breast - anger, guilt, uncertainty, embarrassment, frustration - at herself, Jack and Gabriel. Why couldn't someone else have found her outside, why couldn't _no one_ have found her? Why did it have to be Gabriel? Why did she entrust in him so easily the demons lurking in her dreams? It made her exceedingly uncomfortable. Angela liked to be in control, and she most certainly was not in control right now. She refused to consult with any of the medical staff or Jack because of her pride, yet was ok confessing her struggles to Gabriel Reyes of all people?

Oh, and then fucked him. Because why not top off the shitty decisions cake with some shittier decisions frosting. Now all she needed was some shittiest decisions candles.

Not only were both Jack and Gabriel her superiors, they were her patients. This was ridiculous, the whole thing, and Angela knew the only person she had to blame was herself. She was wronging both of them on levels deeper than hurt feelings. It was time to do her job and act like an adult.

"-nd I am hoping that you would be interested in observing data I have collected on cryostasis."

It took her a second to realize Mei was expecting an answer to something Angela had hardly processed. "Yes," she smiled as enthusiastically as she could muster. "I would be happy to look over whatever research you send my way."

"Wonderful! I am honored to have the assistance of your knowledge."

"I'm sorry to cut this short," Angela caught Ana's eye over Mei's shoulder. "I'd love to show you around the medical facilities later if you have time?"

Mei nodded as Angela made her way over to Ana. Thankfully, she didn't have to feel too bad for being abrupt, Winston immediately took her place to pick Mei's brain.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her anxiety getting the better of her. "Ana, do you know where Jack was headed?"

The sniper's eyes wandered up and down her person. "You look tired."

Angela resisted the urge to bolt. There was no way Ana knew anything. "It was a long night." Ana jerked her finger over her shoulder. "I think he headed to his office. You'll probably find him there."

Walking to Jack's office felt like an eternity. Every step brought her closer to a conversation she was dreading. She tried to remind herself that this was no where near the worst message she'd delivered in her life - informing families of lost loved ones, patients flatlining, sick children - compared to those, this was a walk in the park. And yet the sounds of her feet, left right left right, echoed in her ears.

The door to his office was shut, which meant he was there. " _Time to man up,_ " Angela sucked in a breath. " _Time to be a doctor._ "

A "come in" greeted her after she rapped her knuckles on the door. Stepping inside, she noticed Jack quickly suppress a look of surprise before gesturing for her to take a seat.

"Angela," eyes covered by a cool exterior searched her own. "I wasn't expecting you."

She folded her hands in her lap, pushed her fears aside and gave him a professional smile. "I wanted to apologize for my unprofessional outburst. I understand you were expressing concern on both a professional and personal level, to which I responded inappropriately. If you think it is best I return to active duty I will take the necessary steps to facilitate that request."

The truth Angela had so desperately avoided clung to the back of her threat, unwilling to escape her mouth. But this was reality, and it wasn't fair of her to expect others to face hard facts while she ignored her own. Her voice came out succinct, almost detached. It was easier to say if she imagined she was talking about a patient.

"Based on prior experiences and symptoms, I believe I am suffering from PTSD in relation to the Italian search and rescue mission. I intend to follow protocol and have Dr. Schmidt do any tests required to confirm my diagnosis. Once confirmed, I will follow best practices for mental recuperation. I do not think any of this will take an exorbitant amount of time before I can be declared field-ready. I apologize for any inefficiency my negligence has incurred."

* * *

Ang standing in the doorway of his office brought back a memory he'd long forgotten about: Once upon a time, their positions had been reversed. Jack was the one hesitating at the doorway of her office in preparation to ask her to join Overwatch. He pushed the happier memory aside, it was clear Angela wasn't here to reminisce.

Their last interaction ended on frigid ground.

He listened patiently while she explained quite matter-of-factly what they both already knew: PTSD symptoms. He'd only heard her talk like this one other time, after she'd finished operating on Gabe. Jack wasn't sure what had pushed her to acknowledge it, and could tell she'd tucked her normally vibrant personality away, but he was happy. Ang hadn't, to his knowledge, admitted what they'd all been suspecting out loud. It was a step in the right direction, and he'd take whatever he could get.

They sat in silence for a moment after she finished. The air didn't feel as tense, though it was clear she was acting overly cautious.

Jack sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Apology accepted on the condition that you accept my own," he offered her a lopsided grin. "I'm sorry that my worry got the better of me. I've said this before, and I can't exactly quantify it, but Overwatch has a tendency to feel more like a family at times than a military operation. Perhaps it's the amount of time together. Perhaps it's the closeness we develop putting our lives in each others' hands every day. Regardless of the reasons, a side effect is that emotions," he sighed and looked up, more than a few memories floating across his brain, "can get the better of us.

"Just know that we've all been there, Ang."

It was like someone had opened a pressurized door and all the tense air was sucked out of the room in that instant. He watched her walls slip away, and soon they were chatting with an ease they hadn't shared in some time.

Mending was important, he knew. Not that that made emotions a strength of his - none of Overwatch's men were particularly in-tune with their feelings, except perhaps Winston - yet as a leader part of his job was to also keep tabs of the emotional stability of teammates, no matter how awkward it made him feel.

The chimes of his phone paused their conversation, and the name of the caller killed it entirely. Fuck.

"Ang, I need to take this."

The doctor tossed him a smile and slipped out without saying a word.

This call was not going to be easy.

* * *

Ok. One down, one to never deal with because fuck that.

Her brain fought with itself between finding Simon or Gabriel.

Neither option was particularly enticing: Officially acknowledge her mental state or make it worse.

She eventually settled on the one that didn't involve sex.

"Simon!"

He started at the sudden noise, but seemed happy to see her.

Before he had a chance to reply she jumped right into it. "As I'm sure you already put together, I'm fairly positive I'm suffering from symptoms of PTSD. I'd like to move forward with an official evaluation and begin best treatment options as soon as possible."

Angela ignored his staring by busying herself filling out paperwork, glancing up only once before he hastily started gathering what he needed to assess her.

"What is your primary symptom?"

"Nightmares."

Simon's mouth twitched downward, as if he were recalling all the times she'd looked exhausted and withdrawn and only now was able to fit the puzzle pieces together. "If you are able, please describe these nightmares in as much detail as you can."

Emotions. Box. Tucked away. She was sure Simon caught her pause. "The nightmares are an almost nightly occurrence that have been going on since the incident. They typically repeat in the same fashion. I am back in the same place, the man I killed comes back to life and attempts to attack me and the girl screams until my physical panic wakes me up."

She looked away, refused to witness his pity. "I manage about two to three hours of sleep a night."

"Have you found anything that has helped?"

Angela's eyes snapped to his. "No."

By the end of the evaluation he'd diagnosed her with what they both already knew. He filed the paperwork for official documentation and wrote her a prescription for an antidepressant and sleep aid.

She'd tried to apologize to him but he'd refused to accept, insisting he would have reacted the same way she had. "We're doctors," he'd said before she'd departed. "Our job is to fix other people, not ourselves."

He was more right than he knew. Neglecting her mental and physical well being had become part and parcel of being a doctor. Her chosen purpose in life was to serve and help anyone in need; time Angela spent patching herself up was time she couldn't give to those in worse situations than her.

However, there was always a time to say when, and she wasn't stubborn enough to ignore it. The entire reason she had agreed to join Overwatch was to better the world - an impossible task when she was falling asleep with her eyes open.

Two down. One to go.

" _You could just ignore the situation forever,_ " an evil voice whispered in her mind. Such a tantalizing thought, too bad Angela preferred to perch herself atop the moral high ground, and that meant not wussing out of awkward situations.

It dawned on her that she actually had no idea where to find Gabriel during the day. Most of her encounters with him took place at night - a thought that brought a flush of red to her cheeks - and Overwatch wasn't a small facility. That meant she'd have to send him a message if she didn't want to wander aimlessly. She chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment before shooting off a message:

"Where are you?"

It wasn't a long wait before her phone buzzed. "Hello to you too."

She could hardly help her eyes rolling or the little flip her stomach did, an odd combination of irritation and interest. Again, Angela tried her best to take those pesky emotions and shove them back in their box for a bit longer.

"I'd appreciate a moment of your time. It will be brief."

"Right. I'll send you my apartment number."

He had to be joking. "That won't be necessary, I can meet you wherever you are now?"

"I don't bite, doc."

First, false. Second, she didn't have time for this. He was too good at unraveling her. Last night to his snub at the meeting to his teasing now made it nearly impossible for her to find her footing. She perpetually felt off-balance, like Gabriel was a step ahead of her at all times and throwing her off-kilter for his own personal amusement.

"-and I'm sitting on my balcony and don't plan on moving. The door's unlocked."

Fuck.

She'd walked right into that one. How was she supposed to back out without looking like a complete fool? And why was she already so certain any attempt at professionalism would fail before she'd even tried?

Because Angela had never met anyone like Gabriel Reyes before. He was the virus her immune system had never encountered. For the first time in a long time, she was acutely aware of how little control she had over her own emotions.

So, naturally, she found herself taking the elevator to the lion's den.

" _Two down and one to go. You can do this._ "

No one in the hallway. Angela stared at his door, feet unwilling to move her through the threshold. She'd never seen his place before and couldn't help wondering what his taste in decoration was like. Pictures? War trophies? Family memorabilia? Minimalist or bold and bright? Cluttered or neat? Everything about him was mysterious; this was an opportunity to learn more about him, perhaps find something to gain the upper hand.

Angela steadied herself and then walked in.

All of the prior moment's musings were washed away as she took in the space around her. It was fairly stereotypically male: Gabriel hadn't done any major changes and there was no artwork or pictures immediately visible. The empty coffee cup she passed on her way to the balcony was the only indication anyone really lived there at all.

She found him whiskey in hand, hunched over what looked to be a holographic projection of some sort of battlefield.

Curiosity offered her an escape from starting the real conversation, at least for a moment. "What's that?"

He barely glanced, instead motioning at the floating blue and red lights.

"Where we believe Talon's headquarters are located. It would be a suicide mission trying to get in there, but brass wants us looking at all options for Amelie's retrieval."

Gabriel took a sip to ease the tension in his jaw, "if there's even anything to retrieve. This is really just an exercise in placating Gerard."

Angela flinched back at the coldness in his words. "She could still be alive, Gabriel."

"Sure."

"Have you and Gerard been fighting?"

His eyes finally met hers. Dark, restrained, volatile. Everything about his body language gave her goosebumps. He flicked the projection off and settled back into his chair. "To what do I owe the pleasure, doc?"

Pushing him on the question probably wasn't the best approach to take so she let it slide. Angela wasn't even sure where she wanted to start, how she wanted to articulate all of her frazzled emotions into a coherent string of thought. Maybe she should have waited to do this.

He pounced on her hesitation, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Back for more already?"

"Do you always avoid talking about problems with crude jokes?"

"Cariño," his eyes twinkled devilishly. "That wasn't a joke."

Her mouth snapped shut. She could feel the blush creeping up her neck. Memories flashed vividly behind her eyes: tangled sheets, cries of passion, pleasure so intense she'd felt like she was suffocating.

Did he know what she was thinking? Of course he did. She wondered if he was thinking about the same thing.

" _Get it together! You've been here less than five minutes and so far all you've managed to do was flirt with him._ "

"Sheisse," Angela pinched the bridge of her nose and let out an exasperated huff. "Stop it. I didn't come here to ... to ..." She didn't even know what she was trying to say, barreling on anyway lest he crush her defenses any further.

"I thought you would want to know that I did a full evaluation with Dr. Schmidt as first steps toward dealing with what is most likely PTSD. You're ... help was important in getting me to act on it. For that, thank you. I plan to resume combat operations once symptoms are more under control. As for what happened last night, I think it would be best if we limited personal contact and kept communication to strictly professional business. It has become clear to me that I was not setting firm enough boundaries, a mistake I don't intend to make a second time."

"You decided to tell me we shouldn't be alone together by coming into my apartment to be alone with me?" Gabriel finished off the whiskey and pondered the light reflecting through the empty glass. "Whatever makes you feel better about yourself."

He stood up without another word and disappeared into the apartment.

That stung. He was so good at making her feel foolish. She hadn't come up here for herself, dammit, she'd come up here to let him know under no uncertain terms that their relationship was to stay professional.

...

Right?

And yet, now she was second guessing herself. Had she actually come up here in an attempt to make herself feel better?

"How..." Angela sputtered, embarrassment and anger flashing hot and fast through her nerves. She followed him back inside as her voice pitched upward. "How are you capable of being so kind one second and a complete jackass the next?!"

"It's a Hispanic thing," he replied dismissively. "Look, it's good you'll be back in the field, just don't pretend you came up here to change my mind about anything. I don't feel guilty about last night, I won't feel guilty next time and you sure as hell didn't look guilty when I left."

"There's not going to be a next time," she blurted out.

"Whatever makes you feel better."

The string of vile curse words that flowed from her lips in German didn't even begin to summarize how crazy this man made her. Her chest heaved at the end of it before she spun on her heel and stormed out.

It was a good thing Angela was too angry to hear his laughter or she may have attempted homicide.


	27. What Is Your Name?

***Hey guys! I'm really happy I got the next chapter up in a somewhat reasonable time frame. A quick note, I'll be travelling for the next 2 weeks and won't be back until early September. I'll try to work on the next chapter while I'm out and about, but no guarantees. Enjoy!***

The next two weeks slipped by in an uneventful blur.

Mei had left a week prior and Angela acutely felt her absence. The environmental researcher had been a refreshing break from Overwatch's routine. Thankfully, they kept in email contact.

Angela spent her mornings detailing any nightmares she'd had from the night before, restarting her much-neglected runs with Jack and then meeting with Simon after to talk through her notes. The cocktail of medications she was on made her feel sluggish and foggy. Even worse, they didn't seem to be having much of an effect on her sleep patterns - something both her and Simon hoped the drugs would improve. Most days she simply felt numb, like they had put her brain on perpetual autopilot. Angela and Simon agreed to give the medicine another week before trying something else.

Afternoons consisted of patching up any wounded coming back from missions, tinkering with her suit and staff and reacquainting herself with her pistol. Shooting hadn't been as stressful as she'd worried it would be, perhaps because Ana and Jack had been kind enough to stand by the first few times she practiced. It didn't hurt to remind herself that guns don't shoot people, people shoot people. The weapon wasn't going to leap off the table and attack her.

She'd run into Gabriel at the shooting range and had attempted (somewhat successfully) to keep him at arm's length both physically and emotionally. Since she only went down with someone else, Angela had avoided any private encounters. He was back to his usual demeanor, although Angela had noticed he seemed a little off, maybe a bit more tense than usual? She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was definitely up.

Not that it was her job to figure out what. The less personal details she knew, the better. She just wished her body would stop being so damn aware of him.

Evenings were less enjoyable, mainly because she had less to occupy her mind with. Medical journals and tea were only so interesting, and she didn't have the stomach or desire to drink with Jesse, listen to Reinhardt and Torbjorn bicker or babysit Fareeha every night.

No matter how hard she tried, her thoughts always found a way back to Gabriel. It made sense logically, of course, why she'd be thinking about him; if only she could bend her emotions to her will and make them understand that they were being quite burdensome.

Considering no one in the history of the world had figured out how to do that, she probably wasn't going to be the first.

Thinking about him wasn't unhealthy, per say, yet she hated that every surface in her damn apartment reminded her of some encounter they'd had. The couch? Ruined. Kitchen counter? Ruined. Wall next to the door? That too. Basically the entire bedroom? Check.

"You did this to yourself," she grumbled. "Time to deal with the consequences."

To make matters worse, she knew she couldn't have the one thing that would put her to sleep at night - or had at least done so once before.

" _I should meditate. That'll help clear my head._ "

A few minutes later Angela sank onto a mat and tucked her feet underneath her. Soft music flowed through the room as she closed her eyes and began breathing exercises. In and out. In ... and out. She tended to let her mind decide how meditation went. Sometimes, it went no where at all. Those were the most relaxing.

Not this time. Her brain took her to Gerard, his needs as a patient and the unfortunate march of time. She'd already made the mistake of asking him if he wanted to talk about anything - that had gone over about as well as expected. It was hard to admit, but life moved on. Gerard was in no condition mentally to go out on missions and Angela wasn't about to clear him for duty. Others, however, were right back to it. The world's problems weren't going to cut Overwatch a break because one man was heartbroken.

" _What a very Reyes-esque thing to say,_ " she thought suddenly. Picking up on any of his traits was the last thing she needed. A doctor's compassion was vital to being able to perform her job.

In ... and out.

Her thoughts began to drift again.

Winston had said he was nearly finished with the Slipstream. Higher-ups gave the nod to Lena to fly the first test run. The pilot had been so excited by the news she'd practically sprinted around the entirety of Overwatch telling anyone she could get her hands on.

Jesse McCree? She hadn't spent much time with him on account of his penchant for cigars and being an insufferable flirt. Poor Ana, it seemed Jesse directed all his attentions at her. Or maybe not poor Ana, it was hard to tell. Fareeha would be leaving the facility soon for school; her departure was obviously weighing on her and her mother.

Oh.

And it was almost Christmas. How could she have forgotten? Winston apparently loved Christmas and went to all sorts of lengths to cook and prepare. Lena had assured her it would be the "best bloody meal" she'd ever had.

In ... and out.

Angela felt the gentle, rhythmic thud of her heart. Wisps of a scented candle teased her nose. This is as close to peace as she had ever been able to get; her and her thoughts wrapped up in a blanket of tranquil music and soothing smells.

In ... and out.

* * *

Gibraltar.

It was always the fucking sticking point.

Ana, Jack and Gabriel sat around a slowly rotating hologram of the globe. Highlighted points marked Overwatch's main outposts and each had a varying number of names listed.

"We've been here an hour too long," Jack rubbed his hands over his face. "Not everyone gets to go to Gibraltar."

Ana took a long sip of her now-cold coffee. "If you want to tell Reinhardt he can't go, that's on you."

This was the trio's least favorite day of the year. Planning watchpoint assignments was an enormous drag. It was easy when something serious was going on - they simply sent the most important people to the closest locations. Nothing happening was when the whole thing turned into a jockeying contest for the best vacation.

"Just give him Gibraltar," Gabriel snapped.

"He always gets Gibra-"

Jack's protest was immediately drowned out by Ana and Gabriel's simultaneous shouts of frustration.

They stared each other down for an exasperated moment before Jack caved.

"Fine, whatever. Reinhardt gets Gibraltar. Now, who and where are left?"

"The Shimada Clan has further deteriorated the situation in Japan. Sojiro has reportedly suffered another stroke and is bedridden. It's unclear how extensive the damage is, but internal and external fighting in anticipation of his death is heating up," Ana explained. "On the other side of the world, the Deadlock Gang seems to have recovered from Gabriel's last culling. On the bright side, reports do show their effectiveness has been vastly decreased with Jesse's loss. Last but not least, Russian troops look like they've got the upper hand on the remaining cells of Omnics. We're still waiting on additional reports."

Gabriel was about to speak when Jack cut in, "Send a liaison to Russia to check in on things, an agent to Japan as well for more eyes on the ground. Keep it contact-evasive. The Shimadas will know we're watching but it doesn't need to be obvious. As for Deadlock, let's get Jesse to sit down and map out safe houses, locations, caches and other important strike points."

In the time Jack was speaking Gabriel had eased back in his seat, brow furrowed and arms folded. Jack had become more and more bold over the last few months and that aggressiveness sat on the same timeline as the growing tension between them. Gabriel had an idea of what was going on. Both those things also fell in line with one other sticking point: Jack's increased media presence.

He couldn't outright ask Overwatch brass if he was being pushed out, although it was looking increasingly like that was what was happening. Part of him was angry - enraged, even - that the team he had built might be handed over to someone else. There was another part of him, however, that relished the secrecy Blackwatch provided.

His carefully selected team was steadily growing and Jesse looked like a promising recruit. Gabriel wouldn't have bothered going to get him out of prison if he hadn't seen some potential. Missions were almost always successful. Efficiency, that is what he wanted. And there was no public scrutiny to get in the way of what needed to be done. Not that Gabriel liked the spotlight, anyway, it tended to be filled with more dangerous snakes than the shadows.

Ana had felt the air shift, sensed Gabriel's irritation. He caught her glance during Jack's monologue but didn't return it.

* * *

Gabriel left the meeting with a clipped goodbye she felt was directed more at herself than the other gentleman in the room.

"That was hardly tactful, Jack."

He huffed and busied his hands organizing a stack of papers. "I don't know what you're getting at, Ana."

She snorted, not even bothering to hide her eye roll.

"You don't fool me, Jack Morrison, and you have a terrible poker face." Ana stood up to leave, pausing briefly at the door to cast him a glance. "You two are as close as brothers. Don't let paper pushers ruin that."

She left before he had a chance to reply - not that he needed to. Her point had been made.

And Ana had important matters to tend to, like getting her daughter to pack her suitcase without throwing a tantrum.

Laughter and thumping found their way to her ear about 10 feet before she got to her door. Curious, Ana hesitantly opened the door to find Fareeha sparring with Jesse and laughing like a maniac. Quietly leaning against the door, she watched with mirth as Jesse feigned pain at each punch he let her daughter land.

It didn't bother her that he was in her space uninvited; Fareeha had grown exceedingly attached to the modern day cowboy and Ana didn't put it past her daughter to have tracked him down and demanded he play with her.

Stepping into the room, her eyes twinkled as they both startled. "I didn't realize Gabriel broke you out of jail to be a professional babysitter."

"You were in jail?!" Fareeha gaped at him. "What did you do? Are you a bad man?"

"Darlin'," Jesse clasped his hand over his heart. "You've wounded me almost as much as this little lady's fists." He knelt down to flick Fareeha's nose. "Don't you worry little darlin', it was all just a big misunderstandin'. They apologized and let me walk right out. Mistaken case of identity, I reckon."

 _Thank you,_ she mouthed to him before turning to deliver the bad news. "Have you packed?"

Fareeha cast her eyes to the ground. Ana had lucked out that her daughter was a terrible liar; she got that from her father.

"Come now, we need to pack. You leave bright and early tomorrow, no, ah-" Ana held up a hand just as Fareeha's mouth opened to protest. "No arguing or it'll be straight to the transport tomorrow with no goodbyes. You've had your fun with Jesse."

Once Fareeha had disappeared into her room, Ana turned to him. "Care to explain?"

"Hey now," he lifted his hands up. "I ain't got nothin' to do, and she found me."

A spark of mischievousness lit up his tanned features, "but now that I am here ..." He stepped forward a fraction of a second faster than she stepped away, catching her hand and tugging her closer. "I'll happily accept my babysitting fee."

"Jesse McCree."

"Ana," he drawled.

Gods above, this man was trouble.

"Mama I can't find my shoes."

Ana snatched her hand away and whirled around, "Yes darling, I will be right there."

* * *

The irritation was creeping back. The tension. It flickered across his nerves like sparks. Gabriel and Gerard had avoided each other as much as possible after their incident in the gym, not that he cared.

He did take some small pleasure in watching Angela flit around him like some skittish hummingbird. Everything he'd told her in his apartment had been true. There were no regrets on his end about the sex, except that they'd only found themselves tangled in bed sheets once. His whole body felt awake and aware now, as if the sex had jump started a dead battery that was now happily waiting for its next charge.

The flash of an incoming message pulled his attention back to reality: "Omnic cell resurgence near Marseille, France. Government requesting immediate intervention."

Fuck.

So much for a quiet day. Gabriel pinged Reinhardt, Jack, Ana and Angela to suit up and gather for immediate departure, grabbed his beanie off the chair and made his way down to the hangar.

"Any more intel than the original message?" Ana shouted over the roar of the transport.

A shake of the head to tell her no, he started packing ammunition and taking on the always-tedious task of getting his armor on. Reinhardt and Angela arrived a few minutes later; one looked excited, the other apprehensive.

Gabriel holstered his guns and circled around to the doctor. "You going to be alright?" He couldn't help his grin when she stiffened and hopped backward.

"Yes, thank you for asking..." She hesitated, subconsciously glancing to see if anyone was watching them. "It's good to be back."

He tossed her a wink before sauntering back over to Ana, content with the reaction he'd garnered.

Once Jack showed up and the team was fully prepped they wasted no time loading into the transport and taking off. Details were still scarce so they'd be flying semi-blind.

"Hey doc," Gabriel didn't miss the mild look of annoyance she shot him at the informality. "Now that you're back on missions you're going to need a call sign, starting now."

Jack must have picked up on her puzzled look because he chimed in, "Like Lena, her call sign is Tracer. We can't be shouting Angela or doctor in the field. We need something that is specifically for you."

"No pressure but you've got," Gabriel glanced at the time, "about 15 minutes to figure it out."

* * *

"What is your name?"

"Amélie Lacroix."

"Who are you married to?"

"Gérard Lacroix."

"Who does your husband work for?"

"Overwatch."

"What is his primary function in Overwatch?"

"Commanding officer in charge of all Talon-related missions."

"What is your primary function?"

She hesitated, unsure why. Something nagged at her, pulled at the smallest corners of her brain. The harder she tried to focus on it, the more it seemed to slip away.

"Amélie."

Her eyes trained back to the face in front of her.

"To eliminate Gérard Lacroix."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. He probably didn't even notice the movement, but she did. She saw everything.

"What does that make you feel?"

"Killing Gérard?"

"Yes."

There it was again. Like an eyelash in her eye, a hair stuck to her face or a hangnail that wasn't quite ready to be cut. A nuisance. She would find a way to snuff it out.

"I feel nothing."


	28. I Told You

_"A call sign?"_ No one had told her about this, and now she was expected to come up with something presumably permanent in less than 15 minutes?

She didn't get much help beyond Gabriel's initial explanation; the transport quickly descended into murmured conversation about mission preparation that left her consumed by her own thoughts.

Cool metal kissed the back of her head as she gazed upward. _"A call sign ..."_ It needed to be something meaningful, that much she knew. Something that didn't just identify her to her teammates ... A name that inspired hope, safety and compassion to the people she helped on the battlefield.

Her eyes searched the rivets on the ceiling for a clue to her question, a hint to help her toward the right answer.

Hope.

Safety.

Compassion.

Angela needed to be the embodiment of benevolence. Her physical being - Caduceus staff and Valkyrie Suit - trained the eyes to understand kindness, but there had to be something more.

A name that transcended senses like sight, sound or touch.

A symbol.

Something those hardened by war and violence would not understand.

Her mind wandered to the day she had saved that little girl in the rubble. Covered by debris, frightened and crying; innocence amid chaos. Angela's job was to save, and save she did. She could almost feel the girl's fingers digging into her armor, the cries that felt like they would tear her fragile little body into pieces. The shield within the storm. A repellent to evil and hatred.

Mercy for those who could not help themselves.

And then it struck her, the thought so poignant and intense that it almost made her wince. That's what that little girl had cried for, was it not? Mercy. Mercy from the fighting, from the horrors of war and the dead-eyed men who wanted nothing but to pillage and plunder.

Mercy from the darkness.

Angela was the light illuminating the shadows that threatened to swallow the helpless.

She tasted the word on her lips: Mercy.

Never again did she want to witness the terror in that child's wild eyes. That is what she would become, the salvation that those thrown on the battlefield cry out for. The mercy their adversaries won't give them. Forgiveness.

 _"Even the sinful deserve to be saved."_

The frown etched into her forehead smoothed out as the stress faded away. That was it.

Engaging the comms attached to her ear, Angela spoke briefly to the personnel on the other end of the line. She didn't notice her absentminded nods or the softness of her features in the dim lighting of the transport.

"Yes, I would like to register an official call sign for Dr. Angela Ziegler, head of medical research."

Unnoticed by her were a few inquisitive stares.

"Registered. Please state the call sign when ready."

One slow breath. That was all she needed to be sure. It just felt right - felt correct in her very bones.

"Call sign register: Mercy."

"Confirming Mike, Echo, Romeo, Charlie, Yankee?"

"Confirmed."

"Affirmative, stay safe out there."

Comms links illuminated as each person received the updated call sign registration. Ana gave a quiet nod, almost lost behind Reinhardt's beaming small and cheerful encouragement.

"Fitting," Jack said. "Welcome to the team, Mercy."

Something in her heart warmed at his giving acceptance. No judgement, just confidence and affirmation. It never ceased to amaze her how he was an endless fountain of inspiration for those around him. Simple affirmation that she was one of them - one of Overwatch. She cherished his friendship. Jack always knew how to make her feel sure of herself.

Her gaze inevitably pulled itself to Gabriel. Dark eyes glinted back at her through the gloom, offering nothing.

Defiance suddenly flashed through her breast, hot and fast. She didn't need his approval. This felt right. It was right, she knew it. Instinctively, she raised her obstinate chin, a silent dare for him to say one damn word.

A small smile was his only reply.

It caught her off guard. She'd expected something entirely different, something aggressive or snarky or rude.

Not a smile.

Before she could stop it, she felt herself smiling back.

Why? Because something deep inside her heart craved his approval - and his approval she had.

Her fluttering chest came to a fast stop when the transport began to descend. Everyone's body language stiffened with the reminder that they had no idea what they were actually walking into. Reinhardt would be the first out of the drop door followed by Gabriel, Jack, Ana and finally herself. Angela would stay by Reinhardt at all times unless there was a clear route to the injured. Ana would split off to find higher ground for suppressing fire and Gabriel and Jack would take flank and point, respectively.

A loud thunk echoed through the hull. And then another. And another. They started to come so fast the sound bled into one continuous staccato.

The pilot's voice crackled through their earpieces. "We're coming in hot! Activating shields. I won't have time for a gentle landing ladies and gentleman, so hold on to something. I'm setting you down as close as I can but we'll be landing on the beach."

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as the barrier engulfed the plane. Angela stepped up close to Reinhardt, knuckles clenched tight around a handlebar. They were coming down fast, so fast her ears popped painfully and her stomach lurched up into her mouth. She could feel the sweat on her brow and the slight taste of acid in the back of her throat. Nothing good was going to be on the other side of that door.

"Prepare for drop in 5!"

Latches unlocked and the transport ramp opened to reveal what she could only process as complete chaos. Omnics - both alive and dead - littered a once beautiful tourist destination. The crystal turquoise waters were stained with an ominous tinge of red. Billows of smoke plumed from fires licking greedily through shattered windows.

"Stay close!" Reinhardt shouted. Angela nearly stumbled landing on the uneven ground but managed to pivot in time to regain her footing and pull up against Reinhardt's left side. She switched on her damage boost, basking in the small moment of satisfaction when the beams bathed her teammates in a soft blue glow.

The roar of gunfire combined with the sound of the plane's engines deafened their hearing to the point that Gabriel was forced to use hand signals. Their movement was reduced to a crawl thanks to the deluge of bullets blasting off Reinahrdt's shield and made worse by the sinking sands underneath their feet. They had about 50 feet to cover before they could rely on any sort of building coverage - 50 long feet of nothing but open ground and a whole hell of a lot of guns pointed at them.

Jack, Gabriel and Ana's guns blazed to her right, picking off the easiest targets with ruthless precision.

Angela scanned for any survivors; she didn't expect to find many on the beach, there was nowhere to hide and Omnics weren't known for leaving wounded. They weren't - couldn't be - her first priority, regardless. Her team came first. After they'd neutralized any immediate threats, and only then, could she render significant assistance to anyone who may be in need.

And so they trudged.

Each step felt like a thousand bullets. It was impossible to comprehend the sounds, so deafening in their howl that she was sure she would have lost her mind if not for the steadfast wall of technology and muscle in front of her.

They'd made it probably some 30 feet when something unexpected happened: A portion of the Omnics so intent on their annihilation abruptly turned, cyclops eyes flashing as something more interesting caught their unified attention.

"Oh fuck."

"Move!"

Whatever had distracted the Omnics they could figure out later but it had given them enough breathing room to charge down the remaining 20 feet of sandy death and find precious cover against the corner of a precipitous building.

Only then did Ana have a moment to point out what she'd seen. The French military had airdropped in reinforcements, except the landing was so botched that the Omnics had easily picked the chopper out of the sky and spilled its contents onto the bloodied streets.

Apparently, Overwatch wasn't the only one with bad intelligence.

What had at first been a suppression mission now became something much more dangerous.

"We have to help them," Mercy said.

The group met her statement with hushed acceptance. She was right, they couldn't leave the soldiers to die.

"Ana," Gabriel barked. "Find us a path."

She slipped alongside the building and vanished, leaving the four to contend with half a group of very perturbed Omnics.

"We'll wait until Ana can get us some sort of path over. Reinhardt, what are your shields at?"

"Tzwenty percent and charging."

Plaster and molding splintered off the wall and showered them in razor sharp shards. Jack returned fire in quick succession, jerking around the corner just in time to avoid the white hot flash of a bullet.

"Thirty percent."

The French were sitting ducks, she knew. Time was not on their side.

"Ana?"

Static. Then, a violent crackling ripped through their comms.

"Ana, report."

"Fvorty percent."

"My path, first rig-"

More gunfire. What sounded like a dying Omnic. And then two.

"First right," Ana gasped. "Through the white building one block up into the alley. That looks like it will lead you away from the worst of them, maybe even provide some flanking coverage. I'm close to the roof, I'll be in touch."

"Roger, out."

She cast one last look over her shoulder before they rounded the bend, somehow worried the pinned soldiers might disappear if she lost sight of them.

"Eyes ahead, stay close."

An involuntary shudder at Gabriel's unexpected closeness raised the hairs on her neck. For a second she almost felt like she was back in her kitchen with her back pressed a little too firmly against the kitchen counter. A sharp nod was all she could manage.

Thank goodness for armor.

Ana had found a remarkably clear path for them. They encountered no hostiles upon reaching the white building and slipped inside unnoticed - aside from Reinhardt's brief struggle to fit through the doorway. Wafting smoke hid the shattered glass until it crunched under their boots. Picture frames hung from walls. A bottle of wine tottered precariously on a badly damaged kitchen table. Bright splashes of red colored taupe walls.

Gabriel didn't follow them into the alley, instead disappearing through another fractured door and toward the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire.

"Wait, does anyone else?" Mercy paused, brow furrowed as she fiddled with her comms link. "Is anyone else getting this traffic?"

"Bird do-

eapat-

Hostiles inbo-

uesting back-"

She had no idea if it was a one-way frequency. Anyone could be listening in, or anything.

"Stay alert," Jack whispered. "Whoever has a radio and stumbles on that channel will be able to hear me." He shouldered his rifle and took a knee behind Reinhardt's shield.

"Roger, transmission received. Identify yourself."

A tense silence filled the air around them. One heartbeat. And then two. Three.

"nk God-

This ... forward tea-

4th Spe ... ces Helicopter Regiment. We could use-

elp."

The connection may be garbage, but they got what they needed. "Roger. Overwatch Alpha team en route. Keep your heads down and try to stay off this channel."

More static mixed with gunshots.

"-oger Alpha team."

"Ve have a problem," Reinhardt pointed forward. "Zer is no vay ve can eliminate all targets. Ze Omnics vill know ve are coming."

From what Ana had seen, there were anywhere from two to three Omnics between them and the French and another three to four pinning the wounded down from the beach. Overwatch would be able to get to their destination, but every angry robot in the area would know where they were.

"We can't leave them," Mercy glanced at Jack.

"I don't plan to," he gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm willing to bet we can take out two in an initial charge, that is, if you're feeling up to it Reinhardt?"

The roar came from behind his visor. "Vatch and learn."

Reinhardt's thrusters erupted to life and hurtled him straight toward one Omnic in sentry mode. If robots could panic, the brief twitching of its barrel must have been sheer dread. Reinhardt collided with it so violently that bits and pieces of metal went whizzing off in every direction. Jack and Mercy weren't far behind him, one sending a pair of rockets ripping into the side of the second Omnic, the other flying close beside him. One final hammer swing finished the second threat off. "Ve should be-"

Just ahead of them, piercing through the darkness between two buildings: A red light.

She didn't have time to react, to scream or move. Her body was paralyzed in fear.

"GET DOWN!"

Reinhardt attempted to activating his shield as Jack hauled Mercy behind him, but it was too late. There was no way they'd be able to ...

Except the sound of the whirling barrel never turned into that bright flash of gunpowder and death that had ended so many other's lives.

It didn't turn into anything at all.

The angry glow flickered into nothing; the Omnic clunked to the ground, half of its left side now a smoking hole of sparking circuitry.

Gabriel gave the dead machine one last look to make sure it was dead and then stepped out of the shadows and made his way over to the group. Something irked him in that moment as he walked up to the trio. Reinhardt looked startled and Jack had Mercy in a protective semi-bear hug, one arm wrapped around her waist and pulling her into his half-pivoted chest. It almost felt like the beginning of a headache in the back of his skull - just annoying enough to be acknowledged.

"You're getting sloppy Jack," he snapped. "Not sure how you thought hugging her was supposed to help." He cast his accusing eyes to the larger man, "and you. Did none of you clear the area before patting yourselves on the back?"

Bristling. Unnecessarily perturbed. He felt like snapping Jack's fingers.

He didn't bother waiting until anyone replied, "Move out, they're just around the corner and there's more than a few wounded."

That got Mercy's attention. She stepped out of Jack's grasp and glided to catch up with Gabriel. Now that the immediate threat was taken care of, she needed to get to those soldiers.

She broke into a run when she spotted the men - worse for wear was an understatement - and the moment her suit locked onto a body signature she was lifted off her feet, wings spread wide to carry her to her patients.

"Mercy at your service," she said as she landed, already doing a quick visual triage. "Injury report?"

They all gaped at her for a moment and did shameless head to foot stares. The one that seemed to come out of it the fastest stepped forward and pointed at a man propped against the hull of the helicopter. "Captain Marshal, ma'am. You're a sight for sore eyes. Jensen needs the most immediate assistance, he took a round to his left leg and shrapnel damage to his upper torso."

She knelt next to Jensen and offered him a warm smile. "A pleasure to meet you. I'll have you feeling better in just a moment, please stay still."

Her healing beam enveloped him and got to working its magic. Immediately, the pain in his features ebbed and his body began to relax while the nanobiotics ran through his body stitching together broken flesh. The French watched in awe as she moved from soldier to soldier, healing them with both her technology and her words. She offered smiles, a gentle touch and kind words.

" _This,_ " she thought to herself. " _This is what I am meant to do._ "

"Ma'am, I ..." Marshal fumbled for words. "Pardon my language, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'll send you my dissertation when we get out of here." She looked up to find Gabriel. "Speaking of, what's our extraction plan? Stabilizing these men won't be an issue although it would be best to get them to a proper medical facility sooner rather than later."

"Ana's checking for a good LZ. We can move once she confirms a location and we know extraction is inbound."

Ana's voice crackled into their earpieces. "A step ahead of you. I've found a spot about two blocks from you that seems to be clear of any hostiles. ETA seven minutes."

* * *

The transport was quiet on the way home. Not a bad kind of quiet, no, more like the type of silence that comes with a sense of accomplishment. Each team member absorbed in their own tasks or simply enjoying doing nothing. Not everyone was relaxed, though. Mercy chewed on her lip as she stared at Gabriel. She'd done a post-mission check with each person as they initially departed and no one had sustained anything more than a minor burn or scrape.

At least, that's what she had thought.

Her eyes narrowed. He wasn't displaying any visible signs of discomfort but she'd been a doctor for long enough to feel it in her bones. Something wasn't right.

She stepped in his way, arms folded, after they arrived back at Overwatch.

A raised eyebrow greeted her.

"Something is wrong with you."

The left side of his jaw ticked in irritation. So she was correct, then.

"Not sure what you're talking about, doc."

"Do not lie to me, Gabriel," she warned. "Your specialty is war. Mine is medicine. I know something is wrong."

His eyes rolled to the ceiling with a begrudging sigh. "It's nothing serious."

None of his armor showed any major signs of trauma so she confidently ruled out a gun wound. Maybe it was internal trauma? Irregardless, he was coming with her whether he liked it or not.

OK. She was over humoring a stubborn man child. "As the head of medical, you will go directly to the medical ward and wait for me, ah," Angela snapped a finger the moment he tried to open his mouth. "This is non-negotiable, and unless you want Simon giving you a very thorough physical exam, I suggest you don't dally."

His jaw ticked again. He had the authority to bench her from missions. Too bad she did, too.

Gabriel brushed passed her without another word, footsteps ringing through the hangar.

A frazzled nurse directed her to exam room four when she arrived at the infirmary 20 minutes later dressed in her usual medical coat, slacks and loose-fitting top. Angela wished she'd had time to shower, however she didn't want to test Gabriel's patience more than she had to.

Stepping into the room, she shut the door and turned to the brooding man staring at the wall. She did her best to push down the immediate anxiety that poured over her when the door clicked shut; there it was, that slow black hole that always showed up whenever she was alone with him.

"Chestplate off, please."

His hard expression became a grin and he very obviously swept her form, "Only if you promise not to keep your hands to yourself."

No.

 _No._

She was in control right now. Not him. "Off. Now." If she could just bury her weakness down far enough maybe the predator in the room wouldn't sense it.

A doctor's eye spotted it immediately. Gabriel favored his left shoulder and appeared to have some difficulty reaching his armor's side clasps.

Holy hell.

For a fleeting moment she hungrily soaked in his naked chest and the memories that came with it. Angela hadn't seen him like this since ...

"Ahem," she motioned for him to take a seat on the exam table. "Your left side hurts?"

"It's fine."

"Gabriel," Angela hesitated for a fraction of a second and then placed her hands on his dark skin, desperately trying to push away the growing heat in her body by focusing a little too intently on her search for tears or sprains. "Stop playing the tough guy."

Hot breath tickled her neck as he leaned over her. "I am the tough guy," he murmured.

Fuck.

She didn't know why she did it. She shouldn't have done it. Yet she did.

"I know."

Why did the room feel so hot? Was it just her? She didn't like him. She knew she didn't. Right?

Thankfully, he left her in peace to do her work and try to collect her thoughts. There was definitely some tearing and more than a few bruised muscles. Nothing her staff couldn't fix. It baffled her that he hadn't just told her - men and their pride.

"Lucky for you," Angela said. "It doesn't seem too serious. I'll need to go grab my staff, so please wait and I will be right back."

"Wait."

God, she needed to get away from him. Standing this close to him - without a shirt - was doing bad things to her mental state.

"Yes?"

"How about I prove to you that it's not that big of a deal?"

Prove it? "What do you mea-"

And then he wrapped her up in his left arm and she was being hauled up and over the table like she weighed nothing at all. Angela flailed for a moment and ended up grabbing his torso with her legs firmly planted on either side of his hips to find her balance.

"See?" Gabriel's chest rumbled under her fingertips. "I told you it doesn't hurt that bad."

What? What had just?

Oh double fuck.

She tried to pull away but his arm was like a vice around her waist. Little sirens were blaring in her head; Angela was most certainly not in control anymore.

"Gabriel, let me go."

He scoured her face, that stupid smirk still tugging at his lips. Whatever he was looking for he didn't seem to find. With a tilt of his head, one hand lazily started to make its way down to rest comfortably on her hip.

"No."

"What do you mean no?!" Angela burst out. Her heartbeat set a frantic pace in her chest. Blood rushed to all the parts of her body she was doing her best to ignore. Gabriel had seemed so ... so uninterested and cold after their first encounter. Had she been reading him wrong? Wait. Stop. It didn't matter if she read him wrong or not because this was not right and she had told herself she wouldn't repeat that mistake again.

Was it really a mistake if it felt this good?

The hand dragged her back to more pressing matters, like the fact that his thumb was tracing the waistband of her pants and a not-insignificant portion of her brain wanted him to keep exploring.

"Gabriel," she managed weakly.

How he tucked her body closer to his made her heart flutter in anticipation. Anticipation of what, she wasn't sure, but it was clear her willpower had left her the moment her hips had settled on top of his. Her breath hitched as his right hand slid the zipper down to gain access to the sensitive skin below. It felt good. Fuck, he wasn't even doing anything and it felt amazing. Those voices yelling at her to stop seemed so far away now, a distant echo of caution lost in the howling inferno of heat licking at her senses.

"You seem stressed," he purred in her ear. "Let me help, doc."

Logic wavered at his seductive words.

It was blown away completely when he brushed over that sweet spot. All the air escaped her lungs in a single strained groan as she clutched his chest. His ministrations became bolder, encouraged by the way her body so openly reacted to his. A familiar sensation began to emerge in her gut - hot, heavy and solid. Fingers stoked her nerves until little gasps and mewls filled the exam room.

Angela's neck had fallen forward at some point, her body too entranced to give any energy to holding her head upright. Gabriel's pupils were blown wide. She had no idea what she did to him. He wanted to take all of her defiant innocence and strip it down and teach her what it felt like to break the rules. The way her hips bucked against his hand drove him wild. All he wanted to do was free himself, guide her hips and settle her down on top of him.

Not right now though. He had other goals in mind. His doctor would leave her exam room addicted to the feelings he gave her.

His fingers were wet with her arousal and he had to fight the urge to fuck her so hard her eyes rolled back in her head. She was close, he could tell. He slid his thumb across her entrance, delighting in the way she stopped breathing and tensed against him.

"What do you want?"

Gabriel had asked her something, that she was sure of. What he'd asked she had no idea. She didn't care. Nothing mattered except the urgent need for him to press harder, rub faster, thrust into her heated core and give her the release her body was hurtling toward. Angela let out an annoyed whine when his hand retreated.

"Angela, what do you want?"

She wanted him not to stop, dammit. Why was he torturing her? Every nerve screamed for his attention. Angela didn't care anymore. Didn't care that this was so wrong or that anyone could walk in. Not to mention how unsanitary it was. She didn't care that she was Angela Ziegler and he was Gabriel Reyes. Right now it just felt so correct and right and delicious and wonderful.

No.

All she cared about was the release he was withholding from her.

"Please," Angela gasped out. "Stop teasing me."

He wanted to hear her say it. He needed to hear her say it before he gave her the release she so desperately craved. "Tell me what you want," he commanded, fingers doing maddening circles that were never quite close or fast enough.

Slowly, Gabriel eased a finger partially inside her.

"Oh my God." She tried to pull him deeper but he took his hand away, leaving her feeling empty and crazed. The heat was threatening to consume her, to melt her brain into a puddle of pleasure she may never recover from. What was left of her sanity understood the weight of his question. What did she want? She wanted him, of course. But to say it out loud ... There was no taking that back.

"Tell me."

His thumb pressed down unexpectedly hard on her clit and Angela was pretty sure stars danced in her eyes.

"I want," she choked out. "I want you. Please, don't stop."

And he didn't.

Gabriel crushed her body against his chest as he plunged his fingers into her aching, wet entrance. He pumped his curled fingers at a relentless pace, eager to feel her fall over the edge.

Her body came undone violently when he invaded her so intimately. She bit her lip hard to stop the scream from escaping her throat. Her walls clamped down around his fingers again and again, milking them for something they did not have. The orgasm slammed into her like a ton of bricks. She surely would have fallen off the table if not for the possessive hold he had on her. Angela had no idea if she was breathing, no idea what was right and what was wrong. Only that this felt so fucking good.

Angela came down from the high sluggishly, content to ride each wave of pleasure to its completion in his arms. Her shirt was soaked in sweat but she didn't care.

They laid like that for a few minutes until she mustered up enough strength to roll off him. Distance. That suddenly became an urgent priority. The haze of lust wasn't dissipating and if she didn't get herself the hell away from him she wasn't sure what she would do.

Gabriel, on the other hand, made no indication he planned on moving. He had folded his hands behind his head and was watching her with a thoroughly satisfied look on his face. Languidly, he flexed his left arm.

"I told you my shoulder's fine."


	29. Beginning Of The End

Merry Christmas my wonderful readers and happy holidays! I want to thank you for your patience, kind words and encouragement. It's a source of inspiration that truly helps me keep writing no matter how stressed or busy I get.

Have a warm drink with your families, spend time together and enjoy this chapter. And please, don't ever hesitate to reach out to me if you have questions on timelines or anything else!

* * *

No words passed between them when he entered her unlocked apartment, or when he pulled her into the room, or when he threw her dress off and pushed her on the bed, or when he lost his own clothes and fell into her with a silence broken only by mingled gasps and the hypnotic smack of skin on skin.

Foreplay was an afterthought to the aggression with which they attacked each other. He needed to consume her, and she offered no resistance with her body or her words. If anything, she seemed enthusiastically willing to participate - she was as bold as when drunk Angela invited him to stay, except this time she was very sober.

An unexpected groan escaped his lips when she shifted under him and allowed him to slip even deeper inside her.

He couldn't say he wasn't happy. Gabriel had been amused - and increasingly irritated - at her obstinate refusal to give in to him. The chase was more than worth the prize, and judging by the throaty noises coming from her, his doctor was happy to be caught.

They mixed well, he thought hazily, as oil and water should.

He soon lost his train of thought when she dragged her nails over his back and shuddered a ragged breath into the crook of his shoulder.

She was close, dangerously so, but he wasn't ready for either of them to tumble over the edge and once again begin their spiraling dance. His body screamed in protest when he slowed his thrusts. It wasn't far off from torture. Gabriel had wanted nothing more than to screw the sanity out of her since capturing her in the exam room and every fiber of his being commanded he do exactly that.

For a little while longer, though, he intended to memorize the expressions on her face, mark the things that made her breath hitch and savor his own pleasure.

God, everything was so warm. Their bodies, her surrounding him, the very air in the room caused his skin to glisten with sweat.

"Don't slow down," she moaned, her hips rocking up to encourage him to move faster.

He braced a hand next to her head and bit down on her earlobe. "No," he rasped, "We're not done until you wake the neighbors."

"Wh-What?"

Glazed eyes found his, trying to make sense of what he'd just demanded. Angela's eyes widened in comprehension, except the first part of her protest was abruptly cut short when his other hand traveled below her waist and rocked in time to their hips. She twitch up against him, biting back a dangerously loud cry. There was no knowing how thick the walls were; if she had heard them wrestling in Jessie's room above he'd absolutely be aware of what she was doing below.

His grin flashed in the dark. He was almost satisfied, but not until he bent her to do what he wanted. Gabriel crushed their bodies together to relish the delicious friction. "Say my name," he demanded.

Her silent refusal aggravated his fraying patience. Without thinking, he ignored her confused whimper when he pulled out of her, roughly flipped her over, dragged her ass up and pounded back into her.

At this she did let out a startled cry; her fingers unconsciously fisted into the sheets at the new position.

"Say it."

And still, she bit her lip defiantly.

"Angela," he growled, the pleasure bordering on painful for both of them.

"Gabriel," her reply was a breathy whisper. A surrender.

A rolling thunder lashed through him at the sound. He reached around her waist to coax her on. So close, he was so close. "Again."

Face buried in the sheets, she gave herself to the sensation of slamming her body back against his. In the moment, in her delirious intoxication, she acquiesced with a strangled shout of his name into the bed.

He lost it. Gabriel gripped her hips between his calloused hands and took her so completely in the next plunges that they tumbled over the edge together.

* * *

The sky was bright. Too bright, but that was more thanks to her retinas adjusting to the sun than anything else.

She inhaled the December air and flexed her fingers idly. A snowflake landed on her outstretched nail.

Market sounds swirled around her; shoes crunching fresh snow, a laugh here, chatter there. So many people so completely unaware of their surroundings. Hardly worth the energy necessary to notice them. How irritating they all were.

That emotion and others, she had been promised, would soon be gone.

"Your drink, ma'am. Merry Christmas."

Fat.

She had no tolerance for slothfulness, and a part of her wondered how much effort it took him to lift the glass of red wine. Such a doughy, pathetic creature.

"Are you sure you don't need a coat? It's mighty cold out today."

Such a stupid question did not deserve an answer.

Not too much time would be spent pondering his pointlessness, because soon it would be time to go.

"Merci."

* * *

Christmas trees dotted the larger areas of Overwatch's facilities surrounded by garland, tinsel and sparkling lights. The atmosphere was merry and Mrs. Johansson wasted no effort greeting everyone she saw with a booming "Merry Christmas!" and offers of an assortment of hot drinks and sweets.

Angela sipped hot chocolate and half-listened to Mrs. Johansson's animated musings on everything from this year's decorations to the salacious gossip she had overheard. The doctor wasn't necessarily one for such nonsensical talk, although staying aware of who was - and was not - a part of the rumor mill was helpful.

Jack had filled her in on general Christmas Eve and Day procedure: They didn't get any official time off; if anything happened they would be hauling ass to the transports.

Most likely though, he'd told her, it would be a relaxed day full of spiked drinks, hot fires and presents. That was a welcome change from her time at the hospital. Christmas used to be a lonely reminder of her house's emptiness, of her life's emptiness.

She'd already arranged an assortment of little gifts stashed away in her closet wrapped in soft blue with silver bows. One for each of her teammates as a sort of "thank you" for their kindness and generosity in welcoming her.

When Angela had asked if Gerard would be joining them he hadn't given a hopeful answer. The man was becoming more isolated as time dragged on and it was getting to a breaking point with the U.N. There was still no sign of Amelie and management wouldn't tolerate dead weight forever.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Jack burst out of the elevator followed by a red-faced Gerard and it looked like they were heading straight for the front door.

The lobby's peaceful atmosphere morphed into chaos moments after the pair's arrival. Personnel - some armed and some not - seemed to materialize from every door and they were all going in the same direction, outside.

Jack peeled off Gerard, who had now been joined by Gabriel and Jesse, and jogged over to her. His face was flushed and his eyes sparkled with adrenaline. "Ang," he paused to bark orders before turning back to her. "Prep the med bay for critical care. We don't have any more details than that, so I need you to be prepared for anything."

No missions she knew of had been dispatched, and she certainly hadn't received reports of any injured.

"Is this a drill or something?"

But Jack was already walking away, too busy shouting orders to reply.

Jogging to catch up, she stepped into the crisp air to a scene even more chaotic than inside. Trucks, cars and armored soldiers headed through Overwatch's main gates. A recon plane buzzed overhead.

"Jack what's going on?"

Her mind raced. What could have happened to mobilize so many people?

Gerard shouted something from a nearby car she didn't catch - but she didn't need to. There was only one thing that could bring Gerard to life like this, that Gabriel and Jack would allow him so much freedom for.

Angela didn't hide the quiver in her voice when she grabbed Jack's arm. "You found her, didn't you?"

All he gave was a nod before he bounded away.

She, too, was running. Running back inside to find Simon and prepare for God knows what was about to come into her hospital.

* * *

Sparkling shards glinted in the maroon-stained snow where the remains of the wine glass lay.

The fat man, his mediocre wine and the drab stall he sold it from had packed up and disappeared some time before, leaving her all on her lonesome. A scared little bird lost after escaping its cage. It wouldn't be long now, not long at all until she was back safe and sound.

Too bad the cage could no longer hold her.

They'd be coming soon, she was sure.

She smoothed her hands down the front of her pants and made her way down the path in their direction, and with each step she took, her demeanor changed.

Strong shoulders slumped into timid defeat. Brows downturned into furrowed confusion. Lower lip inched its way out just enough to appear upset, eyes took on a sheen of unshed tears and trembling fingers curled around herself to protect from unspeakable horrors.

Hands came up to tug hair out of a coiffed ponytail.

No longer a hawk, but a pampered dove unused to the outside world.

They were close. One minute, maybe two.

She fell, knees slamming into the path. Stumbling upright, a trickle of blood bloomed from her left knee.

One blink and a single tear traced down her cheek.

A plane whizzed over her head and there, in the distance, they appeared.

Thirty seconds.

She broke into a limping run and let out a hysterical cry. No one in their right mind would be able to stand this kind of cold.

Another tear fell, as the previous had already frozen on her face.

Crystallized breath fanned out around her in intentional, sharp bursts. No one in their right mind would be composed.

There he was rounding the bend, but she pretended not to see. No one in their right mind would be able to notice that.

The last strand: a final fall to finish the damsel's web. Melted snow soaked through her pants and stained the blood on her knee a gentle shade of pink.

Delicate. Fragile. Broken. Everyone in their right mind would see that.

Then he was out of the car and sprinting toward her.

He kept shouting something - something that twinged somewhere in the dark corners of her mind. It wasn't just what he was saying, no, it was how he was saying it. So much passion, so much emotion striking the chords of her heart like a battering ram. She hated it, and she had been told how to make it stop.

No one in their right mind would remain unmoved.

And so the tears fell, one after another until they blended together into two heartbreaking trails carved over her face. Soon. Soon she would be free from the last of her weaknesses.

She hiccuped as his thumbs smoothed them away, shuddered as he peppered her face with kisses and folded his coat around her, stepped into his eager embrace all the while breathing the word anyone in their right mind would say.

"Gerard."

And the only one in their right mind replied.

"Amelie."


	30. STORY UPDATE

**UPDATE**

Hey guys! I am, indeed, alive. A couple things:

First - I would like to apologize for not communicating with you all better than I have been. I'm not big on Tumblr or anything so I've always faltered in finding convenient ways to update everyone on what's going on. To that end, my life is becoming increasingly chaotic. I work a 9-5, spend my 5-9 working on my startup company, am planning my wedding and house hunting. I _want_ to _want_ to write this story, but it feels more like a chore than a pleasure. I'll explain why below.

Second - Writer's block is suffocating me to death. Compounding that, I feel torn with the actual lore coming out from Overwatch. When I started writing this fic I wanted it to follow lore as closely as possible. Obviously, with revelations about Moira, Reyes and other various timelines, this fic is way out of whack with canon. I'm trying to wrestle with the idea of simply going forward on my own. Retaining lore as much as I can but forging my own story as it is now. Another part of me desperately wants everything to align properly. I used to love writing this fic, and now it simply makes me feel overwhelmed and uninspired. Both are things I know I can overcome - and perhaps the best way of overcoming them is to simply sit down and write - but I feel a bit lost.

Third - If anyone has any helpful comments, suggestions and ideas to help me muddle my way through these problems I would greatly appreciate it. I enjoy writing this story, truly, and all of your messages have touched my heart. (Not to mention, there's some scenes I've had in my mind for FOREVER that must be written at some point, because they're awesome.)

Anyway, please never hesitate to reach out! Thanks again for reading and have a wonderful day.


	31. Flawed Creations

***Announcement*** I made a Tumblr called FlamingAlmonds. I have no idea how to use it, but it seems a far faster method to communicate with y'all on what's going on with me and my story. Please follow it!

* * *

There wasn't much for him to do.

Why brief on post-op duties? Especially when "success" depended on a heartbeat.

He had no desire to be involved in details; the overt displays of affection curled his lip. The entire facility was celebrating as if Overwatch actually accomplished anything.

Overwatch found Amelie; or rather, she found Overwatch. They'd spin it of course: "International search pays off: World-renowned hero's wife recovered."

No one seemed concerned at the circumstances. There was nothing suspicious about finding her conveniently located a mere 20 minutes drive from headquarters after weeks of alleged detention and seeming not at all worse for the wear.

Not that he'd had much time alone with Amelie. No, his suspicions didn't supersede hierarchical protocol - not that he needed them to.

He knew decay when he smelled it. Sweet, often times. Not candy sweet. Not fruit sweet. That kind of sweet you can't identify until you're initiated into the brotherhood of death.

It was, he'd admit, confusing. It permeated a space unlike a mold. Death masqueraded itself with perfumed elegance, but nothing could hide the undeniable rot in the air.

Something was off, that much was certain.

And he knew just who to call.

* * *

"Gerard, I need you to step outside into the waiting area during the physical, scans and tests I need to run."

The corner of his jaw ticked and his eyes narrowed just slightly, but he didn't argue.

She understood why he didn't want to let his wife out of his sight - even if Amelie was safe.

So Angela offered him a gentle smile before the door shut.

Time slipped by as Angela put Amelie through an exhaustive list of cognitive and physiological tests. Her body showed no obvious signs of severe trauma externally or internally aside from minor abrasions. Test after test she passed with flying colors.

For all intents and purposes, Amelie appeared to be perfectly fine.

She claimed she didn't remember much and couldn't give concrete details on where she had been taken, what it looked like or even who her captors were.

That wasn't necessarily out of the ordinary after experiencing such a traumatic event, although Angela couldn't find a logical reason to justify why Amelie was in such good condition.

Why kidnap an Overwatch member's wife to simply let her go?

 _"You're being paranoid, Angela. You should be happy your friend is home safe and not wondering why she's home or why she's safe."_

Those were thoughts she most certainly was going to keep to herself.

"That's it for now Amelie, I'm sure you're tired. You're free to go. We'll continue tomorrow," Angela placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We're all so thankful you're back."

"Yes, yes we are," Gerard said from the door.

Amelie offered her a weary smile before disappearing with her husband.

The couple's exit left her in a contemplative silence. She feared she was missing some hidden malady Talon had inflicted that she wasn't clever enough to deduce. Angela hadn't spent much time outside the hospital wing since Amelie's arrival. What sleep she had managed to get came in fitful bursts tucked into the nearest chair and it felt as though the kink in her neck would never go away. She couldn't justify rest when their colleague and friend was finally home where she belonged. It was imperative that Simon and she make absolutely sure they weren't missing anything in her physical or mental health. All her focus was on Amelie, as it should be.

And if Angela was being honest with herself, it was a welcome distraction from other problems. Being elbow-deep in medical charts didn't leave room to analyze her ever-changing relationship - if she could even call it that - with Gabriel. Drunk sex was one thing. Sober sex another. She'd engaged in both, and while on one hand her sleep seemed to improve dramatically in the short period after, on the other her lack of self-control was horrifying.

A dissertation wouldn't be long enough to encompass every reason their situation was unstable. For that reason and so many more, she relished the kink in her neck and the stacks of charts around her.

Simon poked his head through the door to her left with a smile and what smelled tantalizingly like coffee. "Angela?"

"Hmm?" She accepted the cup gratefully, nursing its warmth in her cradled hands and taking a small sip.

"I was thinking, in light of Amelie's return, it may be wise to check through everyone's charts."

He moved into the room and sat across from her, some folders stacked neatly under his arm. "It's about time we do, too. If Talon tries anything like this again it'll be important not to play catch-up like we did this time."

She stared thoughtfully at the folders and took another drink, wincing slightly when the coffee scalded the tip of her tongue. He was right, of course, and that was one of the reasons she valued his assistance more every day they worked together.

"I think you're right," she nodded and reached for a few folders. "A smart use of time while we wait on Amelie's test results, in any case."

He sat in a chair next to her and they began.

* * *

"You seem in need of aid?"

Gabriel knew her well enough to know there was no care behind that question. Perhaps some mild curiosity, but nothing warm. _"Nothing like doc,"_ he thought ruefully. No, this scientist was her polar opposite: Harsh, calculating and imperial. Just the type warranted.

Of course, she must already have an idea why he was calling on her. More likely Moira enjoyed listening to people come to her for answers. Intellectual ego stroking was not often turned down.

"A puzzle for you to solve, if you're so inclined."

He ignored pursed lips as he tossed the newspaper on the table with Amelie's face plastered on the front. "Something's off. I can smell it. I know death when I see it," he took a leisurely look around the laboratory. Test tubes of some purple substance caught his attention; a slight movement from the red-haired woman obscured them from his line of sight. "She seems fine, but so do most people before they keel over."

"How do you feel, Gabriel?"

Her gaze sliced through him. Calculating and invasive. Bitch.

"I want you to come look at her."

Moira's stare lingered for a moment longer before moving to inspect a manicured nail. "Angela Ziegler works there now, does she not?"

"Doctor," he corrected almost reflexively. Gabriel had no idea why he'd felt the need to press the distinction; it hung in the air.

"Yes," she quirked an eyebrow. "Doctor. Neither she nor Overwatch is a fan of mine. Why should I help those who sabotaged me?"

Not this shit again. His exasperation leaked into his tone. "You've worked with me in the past."

"With Blackwatch, not Overwatch," she clarified. "I feel no deep inclination to help Gerard's wife."

His patience was starting to fray. "Name your price."

Gabriel regretted it the moment a wicked smile cut her sharp features. She'd probably been waiting for him to say that since he first walked through the door. "My price? A promise of your help in return for mine is all I ask."

In that instant he wished he hadn't come at all. "Deal."

* * *

Jack had chronic heartburn.

Lena refused to do anything to help her ADHD.

Winston struggled with social anxiety.

McCree was a chain smoker.

Ana's hip problems from her pregnancy persisted.

Torbjorn had high blood pressure.

Reinhardt also had high blood pressure. From each other, no doubt.

Gerard suffered from sleep apnea.

Simon kept glancing at her in her peripheral until she turned around and gave him an expectant look. "Yes?"

He looked between her and the open folder in his lap, brows furrowing together as if to convince himself of something. Simon wordlessly handed it to her and tapped on a specific page.

Angela's eyes followed his index finger about midway down the page. There, under "Known Diseases," were three words that snapped her eyes back to Simon's. The hair on her arms stuck up. Her heart hammered against her ribcage and thrummed in her ears. She closed the folder and confirmed the name on the front.

Her hands were shaking.

"This is positive?"

But of course it was positive. These were official Overwatch medical records, they hadn't be tampered with. It wasn't some lame prank.

She flipped back through the pages, scanning for any additional information about a diagnosis, prognosis, treatments administered or disease advancement. "I'll take it from here," Angela hoped the strain in her voice wasn't obvious. "Get some rest, Simon."

Heavy footsteps marked Simon's exit and then it was just her and the folder. Her and her erratic heartbeat. Her and horrid uncertainty. Her and the unanswerable question of why she was even reacting like this. With no amount of small effort, she forced herself to box away her emotions and look at this from a clinical perspective: He had proven before a stubborn disregard for his own safety and health. If that extended to other chronic issues, she needed to know. For his safety and everyone else's.

The doctor leaned over and called the front desk.

"Please notify Commander Gabriel Reyes his presence is required at his earliest convenience."

For now, there were Amelie's fresh test results to digest.

...

A few days later Angela started to feel like she was looking for a problem that wasn't there. She couldn't be positive Talon had done anything - although the idea they hadn't seemed implausible - but with such an extensive battery of tests coming up empty she was beginning to doubt herself. Raking her fingers through her hair in frustration, Angela set down the papers and accepted the incoming call. Gabriel still hadn't shown up and she hoped it was the front desk sending him back.

"Dr. Ziegler speaking."

"Doctor, a few updates for you," the front desk nurse chirped. "Amelie is completing her secondary trauma screening as planned. Would you like the results sent to your office?"

"Pardon me? Secondary screening?"

Angela pulled up her scheduler and glanced over it in confusion. What screening? Had she schedule one and forgotten? As far as she knew, Simon wasn't on call and there was no one else around with clearance to access Amelie's files or person.

"Yes. I also notified Commander Reyes when he came in for the screening that you had requested to see him."

The line stayed silent a beat too long.

"I'm going to need you to clarify," Angela was already standing, already pulling on her heels. "I did not schedule another screening. And with whom?"

Sensing her agitation, the nurse's voice cracked when she stumbled over the name. "Moira O'Deorain?"

If fury-induced combustion was possible, Angela was positive her office would be a smoldering ruin.

* * *

Gabriel swept a critical eye over Amelie after Moira ushered him back into the room. She tilted Amelie's head back and forth with two fingers under her chin.

No matter how many times his brain concluded Gerard's wife to be fine, the instincts flaring in his brain stem pushed back. He had to be certain, no, positive beyond any doubt Amelie was healthy. Angela couldn't find anything; if Moira couldn't, either, there would be nothing to find.

"Gabe, I feel normal. Really." Amelie smiled softly at him. "You're acting like a worried big brother."

"Anyth-"

He turned to the door and moments later Angela flung it open and stormed in with an equally irate Jack close behind. Angela's eyes darted from wide-eyed Amelie, to Moira, to Gabriel and then back to Moira's fingers resting under Amelie's chin.

"Get your unethical hands off my patient," Angela seethed. A flicker of a smile ghosted over Moira's lips, but she dropped her hands to her sides. "A pleasure to meet you in person, doctor" the orange-haired woman said. "Commander Reyes asked personally for my, how did you put it, 'unethical hands' to look over Amelie. I'm merely doing him a favor."

"This," Angela whirled her rage on Gabriel, "is my hospital. It's a grotesque violation of Amelie's privacy, she has no clearance! What were you thinking?"

"That he needed a second opinion, clearly." Moira's voice choked the air from her lungs. The implication of incompetency hung in the air like a foul odor.

Jack cleared his throat and stepped around Angela and motioned to Moira. "I'm going to need to escort you to the exit, ma'am."

The woman inclined her head slightly toward Gabriel, her eyes practically dancing with malevolence. "Amelie is perfectly fine, commander. You may want to consider another medical head if you trust this one's judgement so little."

Her eyes lazily clocked Gabriel's form. "Perhaps your own worries are clouding your perception."

Jack grabbed her by the forearm and yanked her through the door into the arms of waiting security.

Angela stomped to the spot Moira had occupied seconds prior and gently placed a hand on the crook of Amelie's elbow. "Are you alright?"

Her friend laughed weakly, but nodded nonetheless. "Confused, but yes I'm fine Ang. Gerard's expecting me if I'm cleared to go?"

Amelie mumbled a goodbye to Gabriel and wasted no time exiting the room.

Good. Good. It's okay. Angela pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to chant the words in the desperate hope they might quell her desire to throttle the man next to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath in and let it out.

Thoughts flew through her mind on a highway of emotions. How much did Moira know? Why her, of all people? How did Gabriel know her in the first place? What took place before she arrived? Did he not trust her abilities? And what, exactly, had Moira meant by what she'd said to Gabriel before she left?

An ugly rock sunk into her chest.

Angela slowly opened her eyes and turned to face the source of the crushing weight in her breast.

"Well?"

He leaned up against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "Well what."

"Don't you dare, Gabriel. Explain yourself, now."

"I'm not a child."

"Then stop acting like one!" Angela yelled. "I can't count on two hands how many protocols you breached. Have you gone mad? That woman, that woman!" She paced back and forth to try and shake off some of the cackling energy. Her fingers curled themselves into the counter until her knuckles turned white. "That woman," she ground out, "is an unethical lunatic. She cares nothing for the Hippocratic Oath, human decency or morals. Her brand of science, of medicine, is toxic. How could you have let her anywhere near Amelie?"

Gabriel opened his mouth to retort but Angela slashed her hand through the air, silencing him.

"This is my hospital. This is why I was recruited. I am the best, Gabriel. The best. Unlike her, however, I don't feel a need to flaunt it with grotesque manipulation of the human body. You allowed her to poke and prod Gerard's wife!"

"You don't trust me."

She didn't look up from the counter when she said it, just let the accusation settle around them. A statement. Not a question. The insult, the wound had already been made and she could feel it split open a little wider each time she sucked in a breath. The continual dismissal from the moment he'd taken her bags at the airport to going behind her back now. Constant, the whole time. Every step she'd taken Gabriel had found issue with. Was it her age? Her relative innocence to war? Her aversion to violence?

His lack of response bit into her and she felt the ache under her ribs strum painfully. Not now. She'd deal with that blow once she was alone. Angela swallowed the bitterness and flicked her eyes to his. "Why in the world do you know a disgraced geneticist?"

He shifted slightly to glare down at her. "What business is that of yours?"

"It became my business," she whipped her head up to sneer at him. "The moment you let that woman in here. What use does a soldier like you have with someone like Moira?"

Finally, she stood up and faced him fully. Angela didn't want to ask the question, didn't want to think him possible of such reckless stupidity. "Does it have something to do with your medical history?"

Gabriel's bronze skin paled. His jaw spasmed violently. He pushed off the wall to loom over her. "Now why would you ask that, doc?"

Menacing. That was the only way to encapsulate him. The only way he could turn a term of endearment into venom. He crowded into her space and practically snarled at her. "Well?"

"An official incident report needs to be filed," she said tersely. "Now get out of my hospital."

Just then Jack threw the door open, coming to a brisk stop at the sight of them. He seemed almost as angry as they were. Angela immediately stepped toward him and away from Gabriel.

"If you happen to figure out at what point Gabriel abandoned his ethical compass it would be much appreciated." Chin raised, she let ice coat her next words: "Or maybe it's not the head of medical who needs replacing."

"What the f-"

Jack blocked Gabriel's attempt to start after her and instead turned and kicked the door shut. "You and I," he growled, "need to talk."

...

Even though it was hours later she still hadn't seen Jack and he hadn't reached out to her - probably still talking to Commander Dipshit.

Angela turned away every visitor except Ana, who lounged on the chair in front of her desk sipping coffee and perusing the report she was half-way done with. The older woman offered her blunt counsel on her fellow superior and the earlier debacle and it'd done wonders to lower her blood pressure.

"He's going to do whatever he thinks is best, that's just how Gabriel is," Ana said. "I can understand where he was coming from. I'm not saying he was in the right, just that in a situation like Amelie's he wouldn't want to leave it to just one opinion."

"Okay," Angela massaged her temples wearily. "He never factored in the consequences?"

Ana snorted and set her cup down. "One thing you'll need to learn about Gabriel Reyes is that fallout doesn't matter when he makes up his mind."

 _"I'm a part of that fallout,"_ Angela thought with resignation.

As if Ana sensed her thoughts, she waved a dismissive hand in the air. "I'd imagine he thought reassurance of Amelie's safety was worth it."

"Why does he trust Moira so much though? How does he know her?"

"They ... have worked together before."

Ana's hesitance piqued her curiosity. "Moira was with Overwatch?"

"No."

Something in the way Ana answered was off. Angela pressed forward anyway: "So..."

"That's not my information to share, Angela." At that, Ana stood up and tossed the empty coffee cup in the trash. "I need to be going. I'm not saying you don't have a right to be upset. I'm saying you won't have success moving a mountain. Best to know what battles to pick."

"Things tend to sort themselves out in the end," Ana smiled warmly. "I discovered it's usually best to let the sorting happen on its own time."

Angela bit the inside of her cheek to keep from pestering the woman. She'd get no further into solving the puzzle tonight. "See you tomorrow."

Ana was nearly to the end of the hall when Gabriel himself emerged around the corner. They both paused, assessing the other idly.

"Hmph," Ana gave him a once-over. "Seems the mountain is moving itself. Gabriel."

His eyebrow ticked up. "Talking about me, Ana?" Gabriel registered the light still on in Angela's office. "Only nice things, I hope."

"Of course," she snorted. "Good evening."

No sooner had the weary doctor resigned herself to unanswered questions did the man of the hour materialize in her officer doorway.

She blinked. And then blinked again. Yet he remained in the doorway with an odd look on his face.

A not-insignificant part of her felt relief that he'd sought her out after their brawl; an even bigger part ripped its way through that aching hole in her chest and surged through her veins and out of her mouth. "What could you possibly want?"

He held his hands up, palms facing toward her and took a step inside the room. "I'm not in the mood to fight, doc. I've got a proposal for you, a compromise if you will."

Her stomach gave an involuntary lurch at the nickname - said with such affection compared to earlier. Crossing her arms over her chest, Angela sniffed and eyed him warily, she fully intended to extract a pound of flesh by the time the conversation ended. "This compromise better come with an apology."

Gabriel paused briefly to shut the door, when he turned back he gave her a smirk she was all too familiar with. "Any preference on delivery?"

"Oh fuck off," she barked. "Either apologize or get the hell out."

That looked like it genuinely caught him off guard because he faltered for a moment. The soldier recovered quickly, though, and grabbed the chair Ana had occupied and took a seat. He slung one leg over the other and leaned back. "I'm sorry you don't approve of my making sure Amelie is safe."

"Don't approve? Don't approve of blatant disregard for not only her safety but the entirety of Overwatch? Don't approve of you going arou-"

"Take it or leave it cariño," he interrupted. "That's as good as you're going to get."

She scowled out the rest of the fight left in her. Angela hated fighting, yelling, arguments - his casual tossing of endearments kept throwing her off. She rubbed her hands over her face in exasperation and sighed. "What's this compromise you mentioned?"

He snatched the stack of papers off her desk and gave them a quick inspection. "Throw out the silly report you threatened me with. In return, we can talk about my medical history."

 _"Not the worst proposition,"_ she mused. Her desire to file it had steadily faded since the afternoon and now it seemed like more hassle than it was worth. She stood up, walked around the desk and held out her hand. "Fine, give it to me."

Gabriel handed it over and Angela promptly tore it apart and deposited it in the trash. Returning to her seat, she rifled through the drawer until she spotted his medical folder. It wasn't as much of a shock the second time around, though reading the words still caused a certain tightening in her throat.

Taking a minute to compose herself, Angela laced her fingers together and met his gaze.

"You have amyotrophic lateral sclerosis."

"Technically."

"Technically?"

"It's dormant."

"Dormant? ALS isn't a disease that can become dormant," Angela's thoughts whirled in her head, trying to think of how it could be possible. He must be mistaken. "You have it and it progresses or you don't."

Gabriel let the chair snap forward, "Let me finish and you'll understand."

She opened her mouth to retort, then closed it. "Please," Angela sat up. "Go on."

He rolled his eyes and gestured at himself. "The Soldier Enhancement Program did a lot of things to us. It made us stronger, improved our endurance and fortitude. Pain thresholds were raised, reflexes heightened. A side effect of the drugs also apparently impacted disease behavior. I knew I had a family history of ALS. I didn't know I was in the beginning stages of it until the doctors told me it'd gone into remission. Hasn't changed since."

Angela was so consumed by the implications of what he'd just said that she hardly noticed him standing up and moving around the room. The military accidentally engineered a way to halt otherwise deadly diseases, or at least one, and hadn't bothered to let the scientific community know. What if the same results were repeatable for cancer or heart disease? Thousands of lives saved. Millions.

Only his hands resting on her shoulders catapulted her out of her musings. "You'll notice something's wrong," he whispered, "when I stop making you scream so loud."

Angela's reactions to him never got old. He liked watching her internal battle play out and gauging what he could do to turn the tide in his favor. Kneading his fingertips into her muscles awarded him delicious access to her neck.

"I'm mad at you," she murmured.

"I know." Gabriel kissed the curve of her skin and started digging in to a particularly stubborn knot. "How can I make it up to you?"

 _"What a bizarre thing for him to say,"_ she mused. Too relaxed to scrutinize it, she sank deeper into the delightful feelings he was creating. "This isn't-" his tongue tracing over her fluttering pulse restarted her train of thought. "We should talk. Are you and Jack okay?"

"We did talk, and Jack and I are fine."

Angela hummed, her head lolling to the other side. "Why don't you trust me?"

He stayed silent for a moment. He cupped her neck in his hands and followed the angle of her jaw with his thumbs.

"I trust you, cariño. I wouldn't take you onto the battlefield if I didn't."

One hand worked its way into her hair and made delectable circles on her scalp to match the warmth elsewhere. "You haven't dealt with Talon before," Gabriel said. "They have no rules. I had the opinion of a doctor who follows the rules. I wanted a second one from someone who considers them to be optional."

"I don't follow rules all the time," she huffed.

"No, you don't," he tilted her head back to capture her mouth with his.


	32. Adieu

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* * *

A tidy stack of assorted colors and ribbons wrapped around variously-shaped boxes adorned the coffee table. Angela dumped the last remnants of tape, twine and wrapping paper into the trash before sitting down to admire her handiwork.

Could she have requested a service bot wrap the presents for her? Sure, but that was hardly the same as doing it herself.

Angela loved Christmas. There was nothing quite like bundling up in her favorite cashmere sweater with a cup of tea, Ava Maria lilting through the air, the smell of cinnamon and a good book. It was even better this year now that she had friends to give gifts to. She wasn't entirely sure of the gift-giving protocol at Overwatch, although it was hard to imagine anyone not wanting one.

She'd have a delivery bot drop them off at her teammates' respective apartments later in the day. Some she didn't mind delivering herself - others she was a bit too chicken to.

And anyway, she reasoned, there was far too much to do helping Winston prepare Christmas Eve dinner.

The U.N. wasn't so insane that it would deny them time off for Christmas, barring any unforeseen disasters. Time off, as she was learning, usually came with a concession. Overwatch members were given next assignments to be executed upon immediately following Christmas. She was heading to Japan with Reinhardt to survey the Shimada Clan and glean what they could about its leader's health.

Winston had informed Angela he spearheaded festivities and invited her to join Tracer and himself setting up and cooking. She called in a service request to deliver the presents, threw her hair up in a messy ponytail and made her way to the kitchens.

Seasonal jingles and an unmistakable British laugh greeted her as she stepped through the door into Christmas paradise. A positively heavenly smell emanated from whatever Winston was stirring while Lena precariously balanced handfuls of red and green plates.

"'Ello doc!" Lena chirped. "We're gettin' started. Hope you're ready for the best dinner of your life!"

Winston roped her into prep duty and soon enough Angela was elbow deep in chopping and peeling vegetables. There was nothing like a hand-cooked meal, Winston told her, for days like these. Robots just never got it quite right, he insisted.

"So where is your next assignment taking you, Angela?"

"Japan," she dumped a batch of peeled potatoes into a pot in the sink. "Reinhardt will be accompanying me. We're hoping to gauge Sojiro Shimada's health and confirm the reports Overwatch has received in the last few months of any conflicts between his two sons."

"Be careful while you're there," he cautioned, "I don't suspect they'll bother you if you're with Reinhardt but instability can breed irrationality."

She nodded along and set to work peeling the next batch of vegetables.

"I'm apprehensive at leaving Amelie," she quietly admitted. "I trust Simon, of course, it just seems too soon for me to be away from her."

Winston paused and placed an enormous hand on her shoulder. "All data points toward her being perfectly fine. If it helps I will keep an eye on her while you are gone."

"That's very kind, thank you," Angela put her hand over his. "So you are staying here for the foreseeable future?"

Lifting what she could only guess must be a 50 pound pot like a toothpick, Winston explained that higher-ups gave the green light to do the first test flight of the Slipstream. Lena would pilot the plane and Winston and Athena were tasked with making sure everything went smoothly - and that the young firecracker didn't try and get away with anything.

"I can't wait!" Lena popped her head through the doors to the cafeteria. Catching the look Winston shot her, her cheeks reddened slightly and she flashed a sheepish grin. "Can't wait to perform the most boring, typical test flight in history, right Winston?!"

"Right," he snorted.

Hours flew by like minutes until it was practically time for the festivities to begin. The presents had been picked up by the time Angela returned to her room to freshen up, although they wouldn't be delivered until everyone was at the party. It wasn't that she wouldn't have liked people to open the presents with her, but a small part of her was anxious that she was overstepping bounds or perhaps behaving a touch too informally. Winston, Lena and Jesse? No cause for concern. Gabriel and Ana? Moderate cause for concern.

A frown tugged down the corner of her mouth at the thought of Gabriel. She'd hesitated in getting him anything. On one hand, it seemed horribly rude to gift every other Overwatch member a present and not him. On the other, there was the lingering fear the gift might imply something it shouldn't.

There was nothing to imply, anyway, she thought wryly as she groomed her eyebrows into place and swiped a small amount of lipstick across her lips. They'd settled - she cringed at the thought - in to some sort of unspoken maybe-friends-but-definitely-benefits relationship. Angela was so far past her comfort zone she couldn't see it anymore. She'd never been the type to "shack up" with anyone and had always leaned more toward the monogamous lifestyle.

If she were being completely honest with herself, which seemed to be harder than ever these days, it wasn't just the mind-blowing, ravenous, passionate sex that ended in a dreamless sleep that made her leave her apartment door unlocked, compromise her moral compass or throw work etiquette to the wind.

No. A tiny part of her relished his company. She enjoyed how completely opposite he was from her. All rough edges, broken pieces and scars. It fascinated her that she'd caught his attention, and she was loathe to admit she hoped it would stay on her. Maybe there was something to that stupid trope of good girls desperately hoping to be the one to tame the wild beast.

At that she rolled her eyes in the mirror. Oh vanity, thy name is Angela.

Lifting her hair into a ponytail, she paused a moment to scrutinize herself and then let it fan back out around her shoulders. She preferred her hair up and out of the way. Certain others seemed to like it better down.

* * *

"Freedom, huh?"

Smoke slithered from his lips in a lazy trail to the sky until he shifted and exhaled the rest over the balcony. "Less rules, more ass-kicking?"

Gabriel nodded to the cowboy and took another drag of his cigar.

They had a party to get to, but he wanted this business settled before he resigned himself to a night of too much whiskey and too many monkeys.

"I reckon Morrison ain't got his hands too deep in this?"

"He's got to keep his hands clean for the cameras," Gabriel snarked. "And to help himself sleep better at night."

"Gerard?"

"Not involved. Doesn't care either way, though."

"We be goin' after the Deadlock Gang?"

"That we will."

"Well then, count me in boss."

The pair made their way to the party in comfortable silence. One, pleased he'd bolstered his ranks. The other, assured of the knowledge he'd be giving much-deserved hell to his former gang. "Y'know," Jesse drawled, "Ana's little munchkin is gone." He shot Gabriel a sly grin as Christmas carols floated around them. "Think there's a mistletoe or two 'round here?"

The darker man couldn't help his snort. He didn't care either way about Jesse's dogged pursuit of the Egyptian. Kept eyes away from him and doc, anyhow. "I don't think a lack of garnishes will stop you."

"Damn straight." Jesse tipped his hat and peeled off toward the apple of his eye.

An hour later, Gabriel and Gerard stood toward the corner of the festivities. They'd both said their peace - Gerard apologizing for his behavior and Gabriel only going so far as to admit he was happy he was back on his game - and now sipped on drinks in comfortable silence. The man wasn't a complete bastard, he may have been driven half-mad by Gerard's theatrics but he was damn happy to have him back on his feet. Gabriel trusted him with his life and counted him among his closer friends.

His wife, on the other hand.

He spotted her en route to them, gracefully slipping amongst the sea of bodies with a glass of red wine in hand. He didn't pretend to think he was smarter than two doctors, so the soldier did his best to breath through his mouth when she arrived.

"Amelie," he tilted his head politely.

She smiled in return, gentle placing a hand on her husband's arm. "Thank you for keeping mon cher entertained."

"Anytime."

He found his feet carrying him to another glass of whiskey until Jack stepped in his path, two drinks already in-hand.

"Merry Christmas, Gabe. Got a minute?"

Jack must have seen the almost imperceptible straightening of his back because he quickly held the second drink out with a hopeful smile. "Nothing bad, promise."

They claimed the nearest empty table and quickly settled into a tense silence; Jack analyzing his drink and Gabriel scanning the crowd. Their interactions were more clipped than usual after the incident with Amelie in the hospital. Gabriel was in no mood to spar.

He took a long swig of the fire liquid, set the drink down and folded his arms across his chest. "You smell Amelie lately?"

Jack looked like he couldn't tell if he was supposed to laugh or not, furrowing his brow and cracking a puzzled expression. "Smell her? Is that why you had Moira prowling around?"

"She smells different," Gabriel ignored the question. "I noticed it not long after we found her. I chalked it up to our enhanced senses. It's sweet, but not fresh sweet. Like rotting sweet. Neither Angela nor Moira found anything wrong." He took another drink. "Maybe I'm just getting old."

At this Jack did laugh. "I don't really pay much attention to how people smell, Gabe. Want me to go sniff her?"

"Good luck trying that and not taking Gerard's fist to the face." Falling back into banter was easy, natural. "Forget it, what did you want boy scout?"

Jack ducked his head and nervously scratched the back of his neck. "Nothing, really. I, uh, we've been a little off here for awhile. Wanted to check on you, I suppose. Remind you I'm not the bad guy."

He wasn't wrong. The growing tension between them had festered until it started bubbling over into actual fights. They weren't in the best spot. Two alphas, practically brothers, posturing for dominance with marionette masters jerking on their puppet strings. The hospital shouting match was one in a string of escalating incidents.

"Don't think anyone ever thought you were the bad guy in the equation," Gabriel cocked an eyebrow. "My feelings haven't changed. We both know what the bureaucrats are doing. You think I wouldn't notice getting shut out? Wouldn't notice the lack of debriefs, intel, decision-making? They like you, Jack. Your blonde hair, blue eyes, that big white smile and oh-so-charming southern twang? You're a PR gift all wrapped up in golden ribbons under the tree."

Jack's cheeks flushed and he took to staring at something slightly over Gabriel's right shoulder. "I didn't ask for this."

"Sure didn't," he tossed back the rest of the drink and stood up. "Do a lot of good to see you stand up for your friend, though. Have a good night, Jack."

The rest of the evening slid by under a sour mood. He found a comfortable enough corner to nurse his vice through Winston's speech, Ana's toast and Torbjorn's confetti-shooting turret. It was the beginning of a painfully off-key rendition of Jingle Bells that signaled his departure.

* * *

"We're never going to get the confetti out of the ceiling," she mused.

All three heads craned back to the green and red bits stuck in the rafters.

"It's a testament to our great party!" Lena laughed and caught a falling piece between her fingers. "Winston, I think if I eat one more bite I'll pop!"

"You cannot 'pop,' Lena."

"Buzzkill."

"Did anyone, um," Angela gazed around at the last few folks mulling by the exits. "Did anyone see Gabriel? I feel like I saw everyone but him."

"I saw 'im glowering in a corner over there," Lena pointed a finger in one direction. "An' I think over there. An' definitely right there."

"Lena."

She threw her hands up in frustration and kicked a pile of confetti at Winston. "Don't 'Lena' me! You ever read those 'Arry Potter books? He's like the creepy Dementor things. All lurky an' creepy an' fun-sucky."

"That's quite enough," the ape admonished lightly. "Amelie seemed to enjoy herself. I will admit I was a bit apprehensive about how she would fare in such a large crowd."

Angela nodded her agreement. "As was I. Perhaps a touch quieter than usual but she seemed adjusted enough."

She set the bots to cleaning everything up, bid Winston and Lena farewell and headed back. She hadn't really expected anything - a PG-rated Christmas Party certainly wasn't his definition of a good time - yet there was a little pang in her chest that she'd missed him the whole night.

Angela scrunched her nose, shaking her head to dispel the errant thoughts. She almost wasn't surprised to find Gabriel lounging on her couch, drink in hand and shirt carelessly thrown over her chaise. He glanced up from the floating charts dancing over his fingers and gave her a very obvious appraisal.

"You've got confetti in your hair."

A peel of laughter escaped her before she could stop it. Of course he was here. Of course. It made complete sense and yet absolutely no sense all at the same time. This man who ravished her in dark promises and calloused hands one moment and kept her at arm's length with misogynistic remarks and crass humor the next. Far more sense would be made of him not being in her apartment.

"I didn't think you'd be here."

"Really," he eased himself up into a sitting position, all muscles and tattoos and scars. "Here I thought you left the door unlocked just for me."

Had she? Angela didn't remember if she'd locked the door or not. Was his presence so constant she was unconsciously expecting him?

"I missed you at the party," she murmured. A click of the door and her feet led her to him.

Warm fingers were smoothing their way over her thighs the moment she was near enough. Odd, she thought to herself, to be the one looking down at him. He eyed her appreciatively. "Nice to know you miss me, doc."

"That's not!" Her hands flailed in the air in some attempt to gesture her intent and hide the blush rushing over her cheeks. "I meant I didn't see you, is all."

Neither of them acknowledged the hollowness of her words as he helped her make herself comfortable on his lap. Too much to focus on, like his tough fingers gliding all over her legs and the heat radiating through his chest into her palms. That was their game, wasn't it? Emotions masked under poorly veiled innuendos. Gabriel was in her apartment waiting for her because he wanted to see her, and she had unconsciously left the door unlocked in the hopes he would do just that.

That was all it could be, anyway. A doctor too idealistic and a warrior too intense to learn to orbit their lives in tandem.

Or he thought her a far too easy lay. A thought for another time, perhaps.

"Nice touch with the gift, by the way." He looked like he was searching her face for something. "That wasn't necessary."

She bit her lip and ducked her head away nervously. He hadn't come here first. "I'm used to Christmas alone. It seemed like a nice idea at the time."

"Don't get all pouty lady," he turned her head back to face him. "Gave me something to pass the time."

"Pass the..." Being as unfamiliar with whiskey as she was, it took her a second to register the bottle he'd been drinking from was the one she'd had delivered to his door. "It's good, then?"

"Yes."

Sturdy hands drove her hips into his and the breath from her lungs. Her response was automatic: voice hitched in a moan, eyelids fluttering, fingernails tightening over muscles, thighs snapping against his. He fed off her reactions, she knew, and no longer felt embarrassed in expressing them. Especially now that the gift's little buzz of pleasure swirled in her chest.

God, how he was right there. Taught power shamelessly rocking underneath her.

Gabriel helped shed her top and pulled her flush against him. This was one of his favorite ways to take her - half-dressed - the perfect balance between poised and wild.

She tucked her head into his shoulder as the smell of peppermint filled his nose. The sensation of her hair trickling over his chest and fanning on the couch never failed to kick him up a notch. Coupled with her breathy words, he found himself yanking her bottoms away and relishing in her small gasps when he pressed his need against her.

"Take me, baby," Gabriel groaned. He always let her acclimate to him at her own pace, even if it sometimes bordered on erotic torture. "There you go," he arched his hips flush with hers and pressed her tighter against him with a hand on her lower back, "all the way."

His world narrowed down to moans and gasps and the woman moving on top of him.

* * *

"Having you back home and safe is the only Christmas present I wanted."

Amelie smiled up at him and nestled her head into his chest. Gerard languidly corded his fingers through her hair.

"You are my happiness, mon cher."

"And you, mine."

Gerard tightened his hold around her when she tried to get up. He rested his forehead down and breathed deep her smell. "I fear if I let you go you'll be lost to me forever," he confessed.

She pulled herself up to face him and gently cupped his face in her hands. "A love such as ours can't be forgotten so easily."

"And besides," Amelie chuckled. "I don't think anyone is lying in wait in the bathroom."

He reluctantly released her and settled into the bed. Contended by the sounds of the faucet and her soft singing, he surrendered to sleep.

* * *

Angela hadn't expected him to still be there when she stepped out of the shower. Yet there he was, making himself quite at home in her bed.

God, this was going to be awkward. "Gabe, I really can't be up much longer. I've got to finalize travel with Reinhardt and Simon tomorrow." Not that she was opposed to another tumble in the sheets, or couch, or counter, but she absolutely needed a good night's sleep.

Gabriel peeled an eye open. "No objections here." He groaned, motioning vaguely toward the door. "It's too far away."

Staying over? He'd done it a handful of times before, sure, after particularly exhausting sex when they'd already been in bed and taking advantage of endorphin-induced slumber. Not quite like this, though. Not still awake, beckoning and warm and only about sleep.

She approached the bed almost timidly, unsure of exactly how to handle this version of Gabriel. This felt a bit beyond using sex to fall asleep.

"You're acting odd," Angela hesitated. "What's going on?"

"Less talking, more sleeping," he threw her side of the covers back. "You're not the only one with an early morning."

Angela followed his lead cautiously and settled into the sheets. She turned the lights off and rolled onto her side away from him. Somehow, having her back to him eased her anxiety.

Gabriel could practically hear how hard she was thinking, but he was feeling uncharacteristically content and didn't give a damn if now was the time she decided to be shy.

And that's why he didn't stop himself when the urge to feel her softness came over him or when he took her by the waist and brought her against him. He laughed into her hair at the way she stiffened and froze.

"Relax, cariño."

He couldn't see how flushed she was, and for that Angela was exceedingly thankful. It wasn't just the bizarre way he was acting - for 200-some pounds of muscle Gabriel was unfairly comfortable. She felt worryingly safe tucked under the weight of his arm, deadly hand splayed on her hip in an almost possessive manner. His smell was soothing, a light dusting of whiskey tickling her neck that left her dizzy. And he was so warm. She couldn't fight melting into him.

Angela was teetering on the edges of consciousness when she thought she heard a mumbled "Merry Christmas."

* * *

Sleeping was an interesting state. One either had to feel safe enough in their surroundings and situation to leave themselves utterly vulnerable, or succumb to unconsciousness forced on the brain by a body denied it for too long.

His, in this case, was the former. And utterly vulnerable he was.

Good thing she was married to Gerard and not Gabriel. He wore his suspicion like a cloak - the only one of the bunch who'd proved to be an annoyance.

The terribly agitating fluttering in the back of her brain had come back while she waited in the bathroom for him to fall asleep. It came and went, she found, depending on the circumstance. Most often when Gerard displayed some sort of affection or let his guard down with her. Hard to identify, Amelie did her best to ignore its presence.

Sleeping didn't occur frequently. It wasn't necessary. Instead, she watched. The timing between his breaths, or the average of four tosses and turns in a night before he settled, or the way he reached for her in his sleep. Amelie would move away, then. That always brought the fluttering back. The fluttering they promised to end tonight.

She knelt next to the bed, putting herself at eye-level with her husband. That word forced a small frown. Fluttering. So very frustrating. Finish this, they said, and they would help her remove the fluttering. Quiet, it would be quiet soon. It was easier in the quiet. The nothingness.

"To life, to death."

Efficient and simple. So easy to crush in the realm of trust. Had he been dreaming? Of her? She did not dream. He was done dreaming, too. The fluttering had sparked, in that instant, the end. Almost physically tugged her head back when the metal bit against her palm and his chest stilled.

White sheets, a vibrant splash of red mingling with rich chocolate hair.

 _"A beautiful death,"_ Amelie thought, for her beginning.


End file.
